


RE: Frontier

by DaethWeather



Category: Digimon - All Media Types, RWBY
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Digimon Fusion, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst, Comedy, Digimon/Human Relationships, Drama, F/M, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-07-28 23:00:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 43,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16251545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaethWeather/pseuds/DaethWeather
Summary: Having an adventure can be fun, right? Yeah, it was just as great as you remembered it. You and your friends all had a grand time. The best and most memorable days that you'll cherish for the rest of your life.That's not what this is.





	1. Logging In

**Author's Note:**

> Under Copyright Laws, Digimon and RWBY are franchises that respectively belong to the following; Bandai and Rooster Teeth.
> 
> IMPORTANT UPDATE: This story is now officially up for adoption on FF . net. For those interested, PM me on my alt account; Candlestine. For notes of future chapters, we can discuss in private there.

**Logging In**

" _Was it real?_ "

He dimly peered up at the ceiling, shadowed by the curtains as he laid under the ruffled covers of his bed, body prone and lethargic, vision bleary, which he blinked away as he released a quiet yawn. He willed his body to turn, fixing himself upright to sit on the edge, his thoughts catching up at a late pace. He snagged a glance from his alarm clock and spotted a 6, the rest blackened out. That was before he lazily jerked a hand to slip away the sock that was hanging over it, blinking a few times to catch the full time being a quarter to seven.

He groaned, his brain rebooting, remembering that it was his turn, among the eldest of him and his siblings to start breakfast. The journey downstairs was one of struggle, with many an obstacle like a few toys and other junk littering the hallway. Upon arriving at the stove by mistake, he remembered to wash his face to help him fight off some lingering sleep. Once done, he turned the gas on, and went to work.

He was no chef, but belonging to a large family can have you filling in for one or the others that couldn't make due in their duties, whether for work or sickness, he learned to pick up the slack. For him, it was always the basics; eggs, ham, toast, and maybe some pancakes if he felt like spoiling Lavender, Lila, and Maisie. His mother sometimes commented that he could have applied himself to a school, but he declined, with hardly enough money that both Cerise and Coral were on scholarships before moving out for their jobs, and his own plans of going into a trade once he finished high school.

Once he finished setting up the table, he started on the coffee. His father was on one his months long expeditions, his sisters at their jobs at Atlas, with the only people left that _could_ drink coffee in the house was his mother and him. Both of them liked it strong, but he never added anything else, preferring it bitter. He patiently awaited the others, no doubt stirred by the whiff of a freshly cooked meal.

The first was Kelly, practically having skipped down the stairs and up to her seat, unceremoniously raking a fork through the plate of eggs. He didn't mind; Kelly loved to eat, and where there was food, she was never far behind. Any extra calories were burned away from her shooting hoops.

"Mornin', sunshine," Kelly greeted through a mouthful of food, eyes glued to her plate. A grunt was all he could return in kind.

"You know, you _almost_ sounded like dad just now," she remarked condescendingly. "Usually whenever him and mom haven't had time together for a while."

"Still single, in case you're wondering."

"I know," she shot him a look, a smug grin forming on her lips after downing a bite of toast. "You were up real late in the computer room last night. Now, I don't want you to be _too_ honest, but give a girl some credit that she's now old enough to know what a young man tends to do in his lonesome."

"Finishing my term paper. I'll be graduating this year."

"Finally!" Kelly blurted out in mock rejoicing.

"I'm not out of your hair just yet," the boy warned with a sly grin as he set the pot to boil, "I'll still be here for a few months, give or take, looking to find any trade schools nearby."

Kelly pouted, "Killjoy."

He grunted again, but the grin that remained expressed differently, taking a seat and moving to fill his own plate. The others slowly followed, their mother being the last, always sure to take a bath first thing after having awoken. They had a schedule for the morning and evening rituals, lest the household fall into chaos and giving her the presence to happily bring out the paddle.

The rest of breakfast was quiet, with only Maisie getting a telling to for chatting on her scroll. Being a Monday, his mother was all too happy to push him to the task of getting ready. The coffee did its work, but he then had little choice but to wait for Lavender, who he forgot had a big field ceremony for the graduating class above her year.

His luck wasn't all bad, burning rubber on his bike along the trail. He submitted his term paper, his teacher hardly noticing him or any of the students filing in his class. The rest of the day was like any other; bland and ordinary, but he was fine with it.

"Mr. Arc," a voice arrested him as he was behind his classmate exiting the door. His head swiveled, the man shooting him a glare as he remained seated on his chair, holding out leaves of what he could safely presume was his papers. With a blink of slight puzzlement and irritation that he might have to do the damn thing all over again, he shuffled towards the desk.

"Is this your idea of some practical joke?" the man spat, asking, a stray cowlick dangling from his comb-over of black hair, doing little to mitigate the stern glare that he was wearing.

"Huh?"

"This!" the papers were forcefully shoved to the youth's chest, forcing him to keep them spilling out on the floor. "On the bottom of the last page; yes, that right there. Care to explain _that_ to me, Jaune!?"

Checking to see what the problem was, he leafed through his papers, and looked to where his teacher pointed at. Indeed, where there was some space left, a small symbol no bigger than a coin was etched. It was a circle, or, what could be made out as such, with four curved prongs converging to form the shape, enclosing around a smaller one in the middle.

Flummoxed, Jaune rushed to explain himself, more than certain that he did not place it there, "I...Mr. Moore, this-I didn't-"

"Save it, Jaune," Mr. Moore grumbled irritably, "White it out and give me a fresh copy, asap. Got it!?"

"But I-" Jaune started, but deflated when he saw that it would go nowhere. "Yes, sir," he relented with a sigh, rounding on his feet to head for the copy room

He wasn't a bad student; average at best, but Mr. Moore was harsh like that. His classmates could attest that they didn't like him much, but he was fair and reasonable when it counted, but was blotted slightly by his temper.

When all was said and done, Jaune left with a miserable sigh, and a little ruffled that they'd probably have to buy a new printer. It was almost a decade old, darn thing standing the test of time of attending to seven kids. Then again, he could just open it up and check if something was amiss. Their parents were always mindful of money - not that they were that worse off. It was little more than having as many children as theirs instilling a habit of frugality.

His father, being a huntsman, had an allowance reserved exclusively for his equipment and supplies, and with prices fluctuating depending on available materials and dust, it was better than not having a roof over their heads. He even held back on asking for a scroll, not seeing much of a use for it. His social life; on and offline, was anorexic. Kids his age that he knew were acquaintances at best, with little; if any, drive of making friends.

And, if he ever felt like playing some games, they had the computer. Cerise bought it with the bonus that she received last year, the rest meant for other expenditures. Like _Maisie's_ scroll for her birthday. Their old one was scrapped for being an obsolete model, save for the aforementioned printer.

His mind went back to the symbol. It was too precise to be an error or misprint; great, now he probably had to scan for any malware. " _Blasted ads,_ " he thought, beleaguered. " _You think a guy could watch pirated anime at his leisure. My mistake._ "

Priority. Download a new browser with a stronger adblock.

Upon arriving back home, he was delayed in doing what was needed by their mother, working at her online job of writing for a lifestyle rag, last he cared to find out. It paid well enough. Well, for a housewife that had little to do at home when the husband and kids were away.

No use dawdling. "Anything wrong with the computer?"

"Hm?" she spared him a look. "No?" She then eyed him suspiciously, "Why?"

Jaune squirmed a little, holding both hands up defensively with a weak chuckle, "Uh, n-nothing! Just-just asking."

Their gazes lingered for another silent moment before the woman shrugged and went back to typing. So, the computer seemed fine. Either his mother ran a virus scan already, or there was never really anything wrong with it. That only left the printer, which was dashed later on when the woman caught him with the screwdriver. Asking if there was something wrong with the PC was one thing, but dismantling the printer was another talk on the necessity of keeping their budget in the green.

"Your father will take a look at it when he gets here," she told him. "Now, take this brush and bucket and clean the bathroom. It's your turn now."

"I thought it was-" Jaune began to contest, but withdrew from the glare that she shot him. "Right. Sure." Head low, he shuffled defeatedly to his punishment.

Jaune managed to finish before dinner, might as well have taken a warm bath to clean up, not bothering to comb his unruly mess of blonde hair, slightly darkened from being damp, when he presented himself at the kitchen.

Dinner was uneventful, with Lavender recalling bits of the ceremony at her school.

"We had a visiting huntsman give a speech," she elaborated. "Used to go there before attending combat school."

"Wow. I didn't know you could do so at that late an age," their mother marveled.

"I heard that his family gave him some private training," her daughter explained. "He was just good enough to get into the grade of his age group. That was the point of him being there, encouraging aspiring trainees to enroll."

The older woman hummed, "Well, your father didn't exactly have the time to train any of you back then."

Some of them rolled their eyes, Jaune included. "He wouldn't have even if he wanted to. _You_ kept saying no."

"And I still do," their matriarch maintained primly. "Why fight Grimm when you could all have good futures raising families of your own and spoiling us with grandchildren?"

Groans and heads meeting the table chimed all at once. "Seriously, mom?" it was Kelly who spoke. "I don't think the table would be able to hold that much!"

"Hold what?" Lila, the youngest, asked naively.

"Our vo-" Kelly tried to answer, before being cut off by their mother.

"So?" June's tone was defensive, before biting into a piece of fish from her fork. "Coral's already dating."

"Yeah, Coral," Maisie drawled. "I doubt she even wants kids. Not after the way you practically doted on the guy when they came to visit. She looked like she wanted a Nevermore to just swoop in and take her away."

"How else would I have gotten to know the kind of man that was going out with my little girl?"

"Not being creepy would have been a fair start," Lavender sided with her sisters. A thought then occurred to her, "What about you, Jaune?"

Her elder brother, having recovered from their mother's remarks on marriage, was torn out of his meal, arresting his attention, "What?"

"Do _you_ have a girlfriend already?" Lavender went on to ask unabashedly with a devious smile.

Jaune stared at her, before his gaze traveled around the table, harboring curious looks from the others, "Uh...no?"

June seemed to take offense, "And why not!? You'd think my Jauney would have landed himself a nice girl by now."

The blonde blinked as he looked up, boring a hole through his mother, his brain shutting down, and then rebooting for what had to be the second time that day, "I'm full."

"I rest my case," Lavender proclaimed smugly.

"I'm _not_ dating," Jaune reaffirmed loudly, but was ignored, his back facing them as he was halfway to the stairs. He blocked out the rest of the conversation, with him done with the bathroom, they could take care of the dishes.

Bedtime was still a good few hours away, so he saw no reason to not have a good game of playing his favorite MMORPG; V-Pet. He needed a distraction. The game boasted quite a bit of success ever since its debut when he was nine. Back then, however, it was little more than a gamepad title before it was reformatted for a much wider demographic. Promotions went from tours, conventions, to even a short-lived but popular anime.

Sadly, newer, and more innovative games gradually correlated the market, mitigating V-Pet's prominence and shuffling it into the casual realm for the nostalgic and sentimental. There were still players that could number by the 2000 to 3000s, and the server was still running as it always had, with regular patch updates. Every now and then, something new would be added; equipment, stages of evolution, or maybe even new Pets.

Collecting V-Pets wasn't the main objective of the game, but to train and have the ones that you could catch to fight others and grow stronger. All of his own were already at their Adult Stages, but to reach Perfect would require fighting more powerful Pets to load their data. Same went for the recently added _Ultimate_ stage.

Train enough to reach Ultimate, and a player would be able to fight the strongest V-Pet that is said to rest in what could only be called "The Dark Area".

None have been able to do so, with many often claiming that the devs deliberately made it that way so as to be impossible, prompting some players to quit altogether, while others would stay to fight amongt each other, socialize, or kill time if they were bored and felt like playing for the hell of it.

There were rumors predicting that the company would shut down in about a year or two, with even the developers hinting that there simply wasn't much to the V-Pet name anymore, and that they were merely keeping it alive until someone would be interested enough to buy the rights to it.

Jaune wasn't in any hurry, picking one of his Pets that was close to reaching its Perfect form. An hour in, and he achieved evolution. Terrific. And now he was bored again. With a few clicks of the mouse, he was ready to call it quits and watch some videos on BitTube before bed.

He clicked his tongue when the game froze, but the mouse was still moving. " _Didn't they fix this on the last patch?_ " The blonde keyed in the combination for the task manager, and became annoyed when he waited for another few minutes, with nothing happening. He tried jerking the mouse, to no avail. Resolving to just shut it down and be done with it, he pressed the power button.

Nothing. The screen was still on. Great. He pressed it again, and again, and a third time without letting go for good measure. " _Screw it..._ " he reached for the adapter and flipped the switch to off. Not a few seconds in that he looked back up and did a double take; it was still on.

Confused, and a little creeped out, he slowly rose from having been hunched down, then carefully backed away. He only spared a glance behind him, wondering if either his mother or anyone of his sisters would come bursting in the room where they reserved for use of the PC. It could have been a power surge, but balked after another two minutes had gone by.

Oh God…

Could this be one of those horror game scenarios where a ghost would come out of the screen? A lady in white with black hair that pooled over her face? A demonic animatronic? A guy in a dog costume?

He swallowed at the possibilities as the screen got brighter and brighter, before it fanned out all over blindingly, causing him to look away and shield his eyes with his arms. Before he knew it, he felt that the room became dim again, and slowly, still taking a few steps back so that he was flushed against the door, he dared to peek, and wasn't nearly surprised that the screen was still on, but what was shown on it.

The symbol. The same one that was on his paper that afternoon. It was surrounded in a red flickering mist, but it was unmistakable. Only a few seconds in of staring at it did the spectacle finally fizzle out, the screen blackening off for good. Frozen, it was after another stifling moment that he realized that it was over, but rather than stay and examine the bizarre event that just transpired before him, he did the next best thing.

Panicking and screaming out the door and stumbling to his room. He'll worry about any questions for tomorrow.

 _The next day_ …

And just like clockwork, his mother and sisters asked him why he had been hollering across the hall like an escaped mental patient last night.

Uh…

"I was..." he struggled for something; anything, believable to say. Maybe he had been hallucinating the whole thing. Maybe he had gone to bed earlier than he thought and dreamt it all up. That was what happened in cases like that, right? You thought you were awake, but it had been a dream all along. That's right, he internally rationalized. It couldn't have possibly been some random, paranormal phenomena, right? Right!?

"I...accidentally...clicked on a...porn site?" he winced at the lie; a terribly incriminating lie that could land him into all sorts of trouble considering who he was telling this to (and was doubly thankful that Lila and Lavender were still asleep), but by the Gods, he was sticking to it.

His mother, Kelly, and Maisie all stared blankly at him. Nothing else was said, the silence thick enough to rend with the family sword. His cheeks were heated pink and the level of embarrassment was perhaps worse than the time that he flubbed his line at a school play. So what if he mixed up " _dicks_ " with " _sticks_ "? At least the audience got a good laugh out of it.

June coughed, "Okay…? I'm not...well, I..." she sighed, but it sounded more like a huff, as Jaune was helplessly seated at his table, hands on his knees, "a healthy young man tends to get...curious," she winced in the same vein as her son. "I-I'm not... _we're_ ," she motioned a hand to his sisters present, "not judging you Jaune-"

"I am," Kelly piped in.

"Me too," Maisie concurred.

"- _hence!_ " their mother interjected emphatically. "We shouldn't hold Jaune up to something that was bound to happen sooner or later."

 _I'm going to shoot myself_ , was the thought that ran through his head at that comment.

"I-I wasn't exactly..." Jaune sighed, scratching at his ear, exasperated. "I never intended to. I was just browsing through the search results and thought-"

"A likely excuse," Kelly harrumphed..

" _I did!_ " Jaune persisted, more as a defensive reflex than an actual play at lying, flustered.

"It's okay, Jaune," Maisey giggled. " _Everybody_ does it."

"Well," June coughed again, her own cheeks now dusted with pink. "Now that that's done with, you guys still have school. So, come on! Double time!" she trailed off with a clap.

On his way to school, he tried to forget both the previous night and the morning after. The latter was pushed aside with little trouble; his sisters were only teasing, but at what really happened in that room with the strange light and symbol was going to require more aberrations. For some reason, the fear that had gripped his frame was slowly giving way to what he recognized at the last minute as recognition...and...longing?

Like...he had seen it before, as he mused quietly in his seat, pretending to listen. He was sure that Mr. Moore must have noticed, but didn't care, this being the final few weeks before graduation. The ensuing days, the ceremony, the celebrations, were like a blur to Jaune, but the symbol still clung to the back of his head like a leech, something familiar tugging at his mind, a distant memory that he wanted to both remember and forget.

His father had witnessed the proceedings from Maisie's scroll, not ready to go home until the week after, but it could be forgiven. Jaune had gotten used to his father's personal absences, the importance and risk of being a huntsman given precedence. They saved the party for when he did arrive. Nicholas Arc wasn't what you'd call an imposing fellow at first glance. Most could even say that his son was the spitting image of him, if older. His record as a huntsman, though, was nothing to scoff at. As their ancestors had been, he was skilled, so much so that a teaching spot at Beacon was readily offered, but he respectfully declined.

Field work paid more, and he needed the money to support his family, only accepting clients that held him to every penny the job was worth. The party itself was small, with only the Arcs in attendance. Cerise and Coral made time for their sibling, giving him his due praise, and little else. Jaune appreciated it, learning to take what he could get.

Later that night, it was only the men; him and his father, out on the porch, sitting on the bench that they had built together. Okay, he was eight, and it was more like him helping pass what tool was needed when called, but, semantics.

"You're 17 now, Jaune. Officially an adult," Nicholas remarked with a hint of pride leaking from his tone, to which Jaune swelled a bit appreciatively. "My boy, you've just taken the first step to moving out in the world. Of course, I don't mean that literally 'cause...well, you're still here." A pause. "Right next to me."

His son stared at him blankly, with him flinching not too soon after at his impotent attempt at levity. Humor was never his strong point. "Well..." he started again with a clearing of the throat, stumbling a little. "How do you feel, Jaune?"

The blonde hesitated, his words coming out shakily, "Uh...l-like I normally do. Nothing...nothing weird, or anything. Why?" He had an easier time talking with his father as a child. As he got older, most of their conversations amounted to the usual parent-child talking points.

" _How was school?_ "

" _You done with chores?_ "

" _Trying out any clubs this year, chief?_ "

"Jaune," Nicholas moistened his lips somberly, tearing the boy away from his brief musing after taking a swig from his half-finished beer can, "you remember when...you were a kid, what you wanted out of anything, which your mother and I wouldn't hear the end of whenever _I_ was around?"

Jaune stilled, staying silent, and this gave the older man incentive. "Your dream, son. To be a huntsman." He let the words sink in.

"Ah," blue eyes that reflected his own flashed, the son silently comprehending. "I-I think so, yeah. Why?"

Nicholas' lips curled into a small smile, "You wanted so desperately for me to train you. Sometimes, you'd barge into our room first thing in the morning, jumping on the bed, like you didn't even care if your mother was going to bite your ear off."

Jaune winced, remembering that too, apologetically. "You'd even sneak off with Crocea Mors to give it a few swings, but it'd always be too heavy and I'd hear you dragging it along the floor." The blonde sank into the bench. "Yep, those were the days." The smile he was giving now was doleful, like he was lamenting something. "So...what changed?"

"Huh?" Jaune blinked.

Another swig. "One day, not long after your tenth birthday, you just...well…" Jaune arched a brow in mild curiosity at his father reaching for the words.

"Stopped," Nicholas finally shrugged.

The blonde's eyes widened a fraction after a few minutes, as if in realization. Had he, really? "I...I guess I got over it."

Nicholas went silent. "You...got over it," he repeated oddly after retrieving his bearings. "That's it?"

"Yeah," Jaune nodded.

"You. Jaune "I'm gonna be the greatest huntsman alive" Arc," Nicholas reminded archly, "got over your dream? Just like that?"

"W-Why are you asking that right now?" Jaune spluttered ambivalently, becoming uncomfortable of old memories being brought up. "That was ages ago, pop."

"It's just...weird," Nicholas went on. "Don't get me wrong. Your mother was glad about it, and I was too. Being a huntsman isn't all it's cracked up to be, I can tell you that," he pointed at him with his pinky from the hand that held the beer. "But I say that it's weird because it was just so... _sudden_. One day, you'd beg me to take you on a trip, even teach you some of my moves. The next; the literal next day, it was like you were barely ever interested at all. And you hardly ever brought it up again years after that."

"I was... spontaneous as a kid," Jaune provided weakly. "It was getting old, and I was growing up."

"Spontaneity," Nicholas repeated with a snort. "I'm not so sure that that's what really went down. Be honest, level with me here. Why did you give up wanting to be a huntsman?"

Jaune went quiet, not even daring to make contact with his father's gaze as he contemplated deeply, because even he wasn't so determined as to why. It truly was so sudden. He tried to recall, but it was like a stray gust of wind that passed him by on a random day.

Wind...like riding in a tr-he shook his head, a light throbbing sensation overcoming him for some reason. "I'm tired, dad," he rose to his feet, with Nicholas not bothering to bar him, before going still. Begrudgingly, he whirled back to face their patriarch. "Look, it was just some kid's dream. I'd think that there wasn't anything serious behind it. I was like; what, eight? And, after two years, you get kinda bored and move on to the next thing. It happens, dad. Why? You...want me to take it up? At this age?" he snorted with a twinge of disbelief.

"That's not what I meant," Nicholas disclaimed with a shake of his head.

"Then, what?"

Nicholas stared at his son one final time, before belting out a deep sigh, "I just wanted to be sure." Jaune felt like he couldn't fully believe that. "What I meant to say is, whatever kind of path you choose, all I hope for is your happiness. I'm here for you. I'll support you. I always have. I know this because your mother and I made sure to raise you and your sisters to be good kids."

"But," he paused, "it's a hard world out there. Very hard," his head lowered briefly before perking up again. "Ultimately, nobody else but you has a say in where you're gonna end up. Not me, not your mother, not _any_ one. And I'm telling you this for your own good. Your grandfather did the same, and look how I turned out. I feel like I'm the richest man in the world with this family, and I wouldn't trade it for anything else." His voice shifted, "That's more than what any father could ask for from his children."

Jaune's eyes stung at what his father imparted, rounding back to the door, "Thanks, dad."

"And hey," the man continued more jovially. "I left you a little something in your room before we went out here. I have a feeling that you'll be needing it from now on."

A present? Well, here's to betting that it'll be leagues' above the shirt that Coral gave him that said ' _Juicy_ ' in stylized pink letters. Yep, totally not mortifying in any way. He'll just give it to Kelly, and in all likelihood, the girl was the rightful owner for the fact that it could barely fit him. Unless the fabric was stretchable. He torpedoed that thought away when it swerved back to his father's gift. Oh, goody.

The sanctuary of his domicile was welcoming, as he limply allowed his body to impact on the bed, catapulting the white box that was placed comfortably above his pillow to land on his scalp. A muffled groan, and an arm that reached for it, he forced his body to untangle itself from the heap. The box was a clear white, with no wrapping, and only tape to keep the lid fixed in place. Feeling it up, recognition shortly dawned on him, and quickly picked at the tape with a finger.

A Scroll. An honest to goodness Scroll. He would have been ecstatic if he wasn't so tired and a little sick from all of the food and drink that he stuffed himself full of. Well, better late than never, he supposed. With a shrug, he turned it on and waited for it to load. It wasn't one of the more expensive models, but knowing dad, this was only supposed to be for him to call if he ever moved out. Finding a nice trade school wasn't going to be easy, but might as well.

Money was gonna be easier on his folks with only Kelly, Maisie, Lavender and Lila, so, that was a load off his back. After checking out what apps it had, he was right. This was more for necessity than anything else. Meh, whatever. He tweaked with it more, wondering if he could download a few more. Not long after he connected to their wifi, did a popup greet him; probably an update. Reading through the text more thoroughly disclaimed him of that presumption.

_Would you like to start again?_

_YES_

_NO_

" _Start again?_ " Jaune thought curiously. Say what? He tapped a finger outside the box, and it was like the computer all over again. Sigh. He picked _NO_ without another fuss, and half-expected it to not abide. It disappeared.

Good.

Okay.

He fell back and slept like a log.

The next day, however.

_Would you like to start again?_

_YES_

_NO_

His eye twitched. He pressed _NO_ once more. A few minutes later, the box appeared again, but now said something different that annoyed him.

_You sure?_

_YES_

_NO_

He pressed _YES_ next, more than ready to just throw the accursed thing out the window.

_Okay. Go to the the computer room._

Hang on!

He looked around his room, wondering if this was all just some elaborate prank arranged by his sisters, or maybe even his entire family. Rather than just throw the device, he let it slide off his fingers and to the floor. Maybe he could have his dad replace what was clearly a defective product. Just as he was about to get ready for the rest of the morning, a ringing sound made him stop just as he was about to take reach for his towel.

He tried turning it off, but it proved useless, with the ringing seeming to get louder after every minute. If he didn't do something quick, his mother and sisters would start with the yells and demands for him to pack his bags. The dialogue box popped open again, this time with a more insistent message.

_Go to the computer room if you want the ringing to stop._

There was no way in hell that he was going to go back there if this thing was telling him to. He hadn't ever since that night. As far as he could speculate, whatever had caused it was now trying to lure him back to do who knows what to him. Uh-uh. No sir! His mama didn't raise no fool.

And just as the ghost scroll thing promised, the ringing did indeed cease immediately upon entering the computer room. Damn it, he just knew that he was gonna die. This was to be his last day on Remnant, goodbye cruel world. He tried to get out again, and he gawked when he felt it locked shut, to his ever growing panic and consternation. Fantastic.

"I-I'm warning you, who-wh-whatever you are. I kn-know how to defend myself." Fuck no! He could hardly muster up the gonads to stand up to the bullies at his school. He was done. The screen lit up once again. He managed a small glance under the desk; it wasn't even plugged. Before his mind could catch up to what was happening, he was engulfed entirely by the white radiance of some unknown force.

* * *

 

" _What is this place?_ "

" _What's your name?_ "

" _Someone called me._ "

" _You, too?_ "

" _A 'spirit'? You mean, like a ghost?_ "

" _Come on, Jaune! Kick his butt!_

" _Grab my hand, ' '!_ "

" _Does...that make us friends, ' '?_ "

" _We can do this! There's no way we're gonna lose to these guys!_ "

" **EVOLUTION**!"

* * *

 

Jaune awoke with a start, jackknifing up his bed in a cold sweat. Panting out short breaths, he looked down at his hands, and at himself, feeling around if he was alive. His heart was still beating, so much that his ears were reverberating at every interval. Another stifling instant, his mouth dry and his throat taut, he buried his face into his palms. He tried to quell the tension that was racking his form, gasping in his effort to regain some level of calm.

" _A...a dream?_ " Was it? Well, he wasn't stuffed into some kind of suit that would grind him into hamburger, that much was obvious. He slowly slumped back on the bed, the stress now leaving him steadily. " _A dream...it...it wasn't real. Oh God, thank God..._ " He allowed himself to stay prone, figuring that since he no longer had any school, he could slack off until he did his share of chores. Blinking away some sleep, he looked around the room. His room.

Or...what he _thought_ was his room. Hurriedly, he scrambled out of the cot, the panic returning in full force as he took in his surroundings. It was dark, but not enough for him to not make his way around. From the furniture, to the bed, to the windows that showed a blue sky with wisps of clouds floating aimlessly, he knew that he was no longer home. He sniffed, his nose catching the distinct scent of smoke and metal, and hearing the faint sounds of what could only be a factory of some sort blaring in the distance. Come to think of it, he now noted that his body of had a thin film of sweat, indicating that he was somewhere humid.

There was a door with a flap from across the cot. He swallowed, cautious as to who or what could have brought him here, and if they were just outside. Question was; why? Slave labor? Well, from the industrial sounds and scents that began to overwhelm his senses, it was either a factory or refinery. Definitely not a ransom, unless he was simply abducted for the sake of someone's sick kick.

" _Calm down, Jaune,_ " he thought apprehensively, skin now clammy from the sweat and panic racking his form. " _Th-This could all just be...a misunderstanding. I must have just gotten lost, or something_." Unlikely, since he surely did not recall ever leaving or moving out.

Frantically, he searched the room for anything of use; weapons, communication devices - anything. He reached down his pockets and was flabbergasted that his scroll was still with him, and even more when he turned it on. Nothing damaged, and he checked the messaging apps; no reception. Of course. He must have been someplace isolated for there to be no signal, or maybe he needed to get out and go to a spot that did.

First things first, he needed to ready himself in case someone entered. To his ostensibly turning luck, he noted the shape of what looked like a pickax leaning head down next to the cot by its right. He scurried to pick it up and examine, satisfied that it was sturdy enough to defend himself with. Next, he positioned himself by the door, angled so that he wouldn't be seen through the windows. It was the best that he could do, and if his luck got any better, he could avoid conflict entirely. How to escape was another matter that needed further planning.

When minutes passed, and nothing and no one showed for his trouble, he took a peek outside; all of the buildings were shaped more or less the same, with varying differences in height and width. Appearance-wise, they looked comprised of sheet metal bolted around a hull, including the one he was in. Some of the "houses"; if they could be called as such, had chimneys, but instead of smoke, they released a healthy gout of flame.

His gaze lowered, and to his mounting excitement, saw that the streets were empty, but bizarre architecture aside, even the ground was metallic. Knowing better than to go through the door, he shuffled quietly to the window at the back, careful with the pickax that he still wielded. Using a small stool, he peeked out and down below, finding it to be at a height that he could jump. Any more, and he would have been trapped, lest he be desperate enough to make a break for the door anyway.

The pickax first, wincing when it made a clunk when it landed, but timing it to the pace of what he could guess were sounds of metal grinding and pumping. He landed none too gracefully in turn. Next, he made his way through the maze of houses. At the back of his mind, the thought of what he would do if he was caught was boiling, and the noises that he had been hearing since noticing them were growing ever so louder, meaning that he was going in the direction where there were likely people.

It could go either way. They'd see him and help him call his family to pick him up. Or, they could brand him as an intruder, knock him out, tie him up, and leave him in a room until they decided what to do with him. He made an about-face and went the way he came before it could ever come to that. He soon went past the house that he had occupied, or was it the one next to it.

Realigning his thoughts, the only thing that mattered was finding a way out, and as he kept going, less and less of the houses were left in his line of sight, the adrenaline that his body had built up fueling his every step, the attainment of freedom spurring him on. His efforts hadn't been in vain, approaching what could have only been the border. Upon making it far enough, he dropped the pickax like a brick, hands on his knees as he panted like never before.

"J-Just where the heck am I?" he asked to nobody in particular between breaths.

"You're near the Terminal of Flame."

"Yeah?" he gasped for a gulp of life giving air, coughing once. "Well, where's that?"

"In the Digital World, of course. You lost?"

It was then that realization struck him hard, as if someone had picked up the pickax and swung it squarely to his skull. Slowly, his head turned in the direction of the voice, only for his heart to skip a beat to find nothing but thin air. What's more, for as far that his sights could travel, miles and miles of rocky terrain ate away at his morale. " ** _Just where in the hell am I?_** "

"Down here."

His eyes followed absently, and wasn't entirely sure if he was still dreaming, or ate some of his mother's bad leftover custard that caused him to hallucinate.

The creature was bipedal, with the body creamy white in color save for what he could safely guess was the mouth, which was a dark grey that resembled stubble or a duckbill. The head was oddly shaped like a dollop, with small ears on each side. Three stubs jutted out of each of its hands and feet like claws or fingers. Black, beady eyes looked up at his own, smiling pleasantly. Wrapped around its waist was a pink band of clothing, and sticking out of the side, a worn out green book with unfamiliar shapes and writings etched on the cover.

"So," the creature started again, "you lost, buddy?"

Jaune's jaw was hanging agape from panting, breath taut as he blinked once, then twice, and again, frozen in place at the sight of the newcomer.

"What."


	2. Memories of childhood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Under Copyright Laws, Digimon and RWBY are franchises that respectively belong to the following; Bandai and Rooster Teeth.
> 
> Update: To those who are used to the westernized terms of digivolution stages, the ones used for the "V-Pets" game that Jaune played are the original in the Japanese locality. From here on out, the story will be sticking to the western terminology. I have decided to edit the rest to follow suit and have left the first chapter to stand as a homage.
> 
> Furthermore, "V-Pets" refers to the original progenitor of the franchise by Bandai under the name "Digital Monster". Basically, it was an offshoot of the "Tamagotchi" line of virtual pets, only heavily marketed towards boys from 1997 and onward.

Bokomon was a digimon that; nearly his entire lives, wondered about the great mysteries surrounding the Digital World. How it came to be and why. Why digimon kept being reborn. Why there were digimon of all manner, shape, and size. Information of such magnitude always intrigued him, hence, why he always kept _Monoshiri Book_ close at all times.

That was another thing that puzzled him. As far back as he could remember, the book had always been with him ever since evolving from being a Baby II stage. When digimon evolved, certain articles of clothing and items that they logically did not possess to begin with would already be on their person. Then again, who's to say exactly _what_ the right kind of logic that made up their crazy and wondrous world. Full of marvels and fantastical sights that always seemed to surprise him, no matter how many cycles he'd been deleted and reconfigured.

And what he was seeing now before him, while above the puerile droll of watching a Numemon taking a dump, sparked a sense of...nostalgia. Feelings that he knew were foreign, but at the same time, strangely familiar.

Back to the situation at hand, he knew what it was based on the info that he had flipped through in his book numerous times. It was a human. An actual, bonafide human. It definitely wasn't a human digimon, being able to identify one another from the pre-loaded data that nearly the entirety of their species were bestowed upon by Yggdrasil since knowledge immaterial. Prior emotions aside, he could hardly believe his luck that; in this life, he had managed to meet with a real flesh and blood human.

A flesh and blood human that was now in the midst of some kind of bizarre ritual involving self-harm.

"Wake up!" Jaune slapped his own cheek, his heavy breathing expressing the panic that was shaking his frame. "Wake! Up!" slapping twice more on each punctuation. His blue eyes flared open around him once more, as if checking to see if he had awoken from what he must have thought was a dream.

Huh. Who knew humans could be such an excitable species? Best to file this away for more practical research.

The blonde was now running and pacing back and forth, as if searchingly. What it was that he was hard at work to find, Bokomon couldn't be certain. Perhaps communicating with the human could enlighten him on the situation.

"Um, are you okay?" Well, nobody ever called him a savvy conversationalist, but he'll take what he can get. When the boy had fallen on his rear, curling into a fetal position as he seemed to now be massaging his head with both hands while whimpering; weird, Bokomon slowly approached the lad and reached out, but kept a small slip of distance between them. "Uh...human? A-Are you alright?"

He pulled back a step when the boy's head suddenly jerked up, catching his gaze with his own, before puzzling him even further when the youth screamed and crawled on his hinds, still facing him. Oh, and it struck him; it was fear. Oh...the human was afraid of him. It was at times like these that pride would overcome him in managing to actually intimidate someone.

Other larger digimon usually looked down on Rookies like him as half-pints, runts, and easy pickings for a quick load of data. That being said, the guy looked genuinely scared and likely confused about where he was, indicating that he was not here of his own volition. Now, the imp just felt terrible.

"Calm down," Bokomon started gently, both hands held up in front placatingly. "Calm down, buddy. I'm not gonna hurt you." The human didn't seem to hear; much less acknowledge, his words, as he was still screaming. He deflated with a sigh, "Look, maybe we didn't start off that good. If you could just _stop screaming_ for about a few minutes, maybe we can talk this out and _I_ would be able to _help_ you."

He carefully emphasized the right words that he hoped would help in transmitting his benevolent intentions. The young man's breathing was starting to simmer down after what he had to guess was his throat aching, apparent from the mitigating heaves of his chest. He still looked like a mess, though.

Bokomon released the breath that he had been holding in and started to tread near, but just as he had come within striking range, he cleanly received a foot to the face. The boy had kicked him, knocking him down on his back. The blow wasn't that remarkably strong, but still left a numbing soreness that caused him to rub at his poor snout.

Disoriented, he barely noticed something hard poking him at his torso, and a voice that could have only belonged to his attacker reaching his ears. "I-I'm warning you…" the boy bleated warningly. "I-I-I'm not afraid t-t-to use this."

Bokomon groaned, both in pain and annoyance, then irritation when he peered through the haze and saw the blunt end of the pickaxe from earlier hovering over him. "Ugh, I guess this means I won't have to invite you over for tea, then?"

A scrap of emotion seemed to flicker in the human's eyes as Bokomon regained his senses, looking a bit unsure before backing away slowly, gaze still trained on him and with pickaxe at the ready. It was only when he made a sudden turn and ran in the other direction did Bokomon remember something. Something dire.

"No, wait!" he called out as loud as he could, the distance widening for each second as the human only seemed to be picking up speed. "STOP! YOU'RE HEADING FOR A MINEFI-"

The flash of an explosion rent the air, as it did his words as he could do nothing but brace for the force of the blast. He only caught about a fraction of the human's scream before his ears were nearly perforated from just being near enough. Well, he couldn't say that he didn't warn the guy. But that was the last thing that was running through his thoughts as he shielded his eyes from the cloud of dust that was being carried by the wind.

" _Please be okay! Please be okay! Please be okay!_ " he chanted repeatedly in his thoughts, but logic dictated that the human was as good as hamburger meat. Oh, sweet Yggdrasil. Now he was beginning to have second thoughts about ordering takeout from BurgerMoon for his dinner. When most of the debris finally dispersed, Bokomon ran as fast as his stubby legs could carry him to where he could pinpoint the boy's body had fallen.

" ** _Nigeashimou Dash!_** "

Skidding to a halt, he panted to catch his breath as his eyes scanned, and scanned, until he spotted an odd flash to his right after catching the head of the pickaxe scattered on the ground. He moved at an urgent sprint, some semblance of hope pushing him on, but still taking care of where he knew some mines should still be. Said hope was answered when he came upon a small crater. There, lay the prone, but remarkably still in one piece form of the boy, with the only telltale sign of his ordeal being his destroyed clothing.

Bokomon thought that he might have been seeing things, reeling in disbelief as a single mine was designed to be powerful enough to stop even a Monochromon in its tracks. He took a moment to comprehend if the explosion did indeed occur, and could no longer deny what was right in front of him as he skipped into the crater and cautiously placed his hands on the boy's back, lying face down, splotched with dirt and soot.

" _I would have expected nothing less than being torn apart, but he isn't even a mushy sack of flesh and bones._ " He was surprised even further when his hands began to feel a faint degree of warmth emanating from the body, encroaching in his claws and up his arms, which shortly grew in intensity and forced him to let go. " _What the-?_ "

The source of the flash from earlier; now to his growing understanding, had been the boy. The body was hot; very hot. Almost like a flame, and growing hotter still until the light died down after a few minutes. Swallowing his misgivings, he gathered his courage and turned the human over with all the strength that he could muster.

Now, if he could recall the information from his book on human anatomy, he needed to search for a heartbeat or a pulse to know if one was alive. The organ _should_ be by the chest area. He leaned his ear down, searching fervently for a beat. He soon did, but it was very faint, and likely to stop soon if immediate medical attention wasn't to be administered forthwith. He'll worry about that weird glow at another time, because right now, he needed help.

" _I just hope those guys know how to handle some fragile cargo,_ " Bokomon thought miserably, knowing that who he needed to ask were so dim that they collectively made a single Orgemon look like the smartest Nanomon in existence.

* * *

" _I-It hurts..._ "

" _It's gonna be okay, ' '. We're going to get through this. You just have to wait until ' ' and ' ' come back with the supplies._ "

" _Tch, yeah right._ "

" _What was that?_ "

" _Hate to break it to 'ya, Jauney-boy, but we got the buttwhooping of our lives back there in case you've been clonked on the noggin too much for you to remember. Now, ' ' arm is broken, and all you can say is that it's gonna be okay?_ "

"... _We can't just give up now, guys. The Digital World is counting on us_ "

" _Yeah? Well, I'm starting to think that a we aren't really cut out for this saving an entire world business. Did you lose all feeling from those hits you took? They creamed us out there!_ "

" _Oh, like you were ever the voice of reason, ' '! You were having just as much of a blast as the rest of us. The only reason you even care now is because of-_ "

" _Jaune!_ "

" _I...I'm sorry...I-I didn't mean..._ "

" _Jaune...I understand what you're saying about wanting to help them, and I do too, but ' ''s been hurt; bad..._ "

" _We just need to find a doctor. There's gotta be some digimon still out there that can heal, right?_ "

" _What'd I tell you guys? He isn't still in on this for us_ or _the Digital World. He just wants to keep playing at being a hero._ "

" _That's_ not _true!_ "

" _So why keep fighting?_ "

" _Because I imagine letting an entire world get destroyed won't be doing any wonders for my conscience. Will it for you!?_ "

" _T-This_ isn't _our fight!_ "

" _So why are we even_ here _!? Why did they choose_ us _?_ "

"I don't know! _Maybe they just did it by random? They made a mistake? Maybe they were expecting someone else? I mean, if you actually stop to think about it, they picked a bunch of_ kids _. Doesn't that just ring you as a little bit suspicious? My_ dad _and a team of_ **adults** _could have done a_ way _better job than us!_ "

" _Well your dad_ isn't _here, and_ mine _isn't either. We're all we've got...we..._ "

" _Just admit it! You never_ wanted _to go home."_

" _Say_ what _!?_ "

 _"You don't think we haven't noticed that you've been getting way into this little "adventure" of ours ever since we got here? Well? How does it feel? Does this seem like a dream come true to you, Jaune? Everything you've ever wanted?_ "

" _That's not fair! It...It isn't about that…Guys, I want to go home as much as all of you, really, but...do we even know_ where _to_ find _a way back? Why do you think I want to finish this? They...she...promised..._ "

" _...What if she lied?_ "

"... _I don't know..._ "

" _Jaune, can you listen to me for a spill? Okay? Okay. You guys know now that I've...never_ _really had a home. All I had was the orphanage, and after that, the streets. Heck, I wouldn't even be here if I hadn't stolen some guy's scroll. Just another day in the life of a thief in Vacuo. So, when Ophanimon said that we were chosen, I actually thought that I didn't deserve to be here. I thought that being chosen meant that I had to be worthy, that she did make a mistake._

 _"But then, you guys had me look back on all of the good we did, the digimon that we saved, and then, I wasn't so sure; do I or do I not deserve to be here? After awhile, I decided that it didn't really matter. Here I was now, saving people and fighting bad guys with the possibility that I might die. I always knew that, probably before any of you got a solid grip of what the stakes were. Living on the edge can do that to you._ "

" _What are you trying to say?"_

 _"Only that ' '_ does _have a point that we need to go home, but we don't have any other way that we know of to do it. So, you have a point too in that we need to beat the Royal Knights."_

_"...And?"_

_"Meh, I lost it."_

_"..."_

_"Kidding! I do that! Look, this all boils down to us not having any other choice_ but _to fight. We still have the power. We still have our Spirits. Unless some other solution comes along, we don't have much of a choice but to get stronger if we want to get anything done."_

_"What makes you so sure that we won't all be dead by then?"_

_"...I've never believed in anything. Not myself and not other people. All I did for as long as I could remember was survive in a world that didn't care about me. But then, I ended up here with you guys, and suddenly, people started to look up to me, depend on me. I started to feel like I was...worth something. I finally had other kids that I could call friends who wouldn't leave me behind if it could save their own skins._ You _made me believe in that, Jaune._ You _gave me that. And, contrary to what you guys_ might _have thought in regards to the lifestyle, there really is no honor among thieves. The reality is a lot uglier."_

_"..."_

_"And I don't want to be like that. Not anymore. I don't want to turn my back on people who need help. If I can do something about it, then..."_

_"This is crazy! What makes you guys think that what we do will make any difference?"_

_"Because, we haven't given up."_

_"Says you!."_

_"You're just scared."_

_"Duh!"_

_"All of us have been scared at a lot of points for this entire journey, that much should be obvious. Scared that we might_ never _go home, scared that we'd get killed in the months that we've been here. This has never been a playground. I won't deny that I've been living the dream, because it still_ is _my dream, and I'm seeing it through to the end. If it'll get us home, if it'll save everyone that the Royal Knights have killed, I'm going to keep fighting. So, does that make it okay for you to be a coward? What happened to that tough guy that we've been traveling with this whole time?"_

_"He took the last train ride to Splitsville. What's your point?"_

_"Only that I think you don't want to give up, either."_

_"...Seriously?"_

_"..."_

_"...Stop looking at me like that!"_

_"..."_

_"Okay, would you all stop staring at me like that? You're starting to make me feel like the bad guy here."_

_"Come on, ' '. Are you really gonna let it all end here? You haven't let us down yet, and we're not gonna let_ you _down, either. That's a promise."_

_"...Alright, alright! Fine! I'll stay. But don't you losers ever say that I never told you so!"_

_"But what about, ' '?"_

_"Did somebody call me? 'Cuz we're back."_

_"~We're back.~"_

_"I thought you guys were going to be out 'till dark."_

_"We managed to gather some supplies from a nearby village...or...what was left of it. We also found some gauze and herbs for ' '."_

_"Thank you, ' '"_

_"You're welcome, ' '. Now let's start on treating her wounds, and after that, we can eat."_

* * *

Jaune eyelids crinkled, mind foggy with sleep. He smacked his lips, a hand hovering up to ruffle his tresses, and then at his chest, which was soon joined by his other hand when he started to feel more of an itch at his stomach. Another moment in, and he snapped up to his feet with a cry, scratching at himself like a madman.

"What the-?" he looked down, and found to his surprise that his clothes had been changed. No longer was he wearing his prized Pumpkin Pete's hoodie that he had won after religiously collecting box tops for weeks, but what he was sure was stitched together from different fabrics, unwashed, and surely from places that he dared not to know.

"Wh-What the...?" He was breathing heavily again, the tension returning, his gaze flickering around frantically; he was back inside one of the weird houses again. "What the heck am I wearing?" he grumbled irritably, doubling in his efforts to scratch, but immediately regretted of making such noise, nearly leaping out of his own skin when he heard a voice call from outside.

"Oh, you're finally awake? Hang on, I'll be right there."

The tension that had gripped his form tightened, feet bolted to the ground. That was before he promptly moved, peeking down at the cot and under it. Too obvious. He moved to the edge of the door, betting that he could slip and make a run for it again, and if that didn't work, jump whoever it was from behind. Jaune swallowed, slowly, quietly, not daring to move until the moment was right.

That was if he could endure the building intensity of the itch that was already tempting his body to rebel, teeth clenched behind lips, the sweat from the humidity only adding to his discomfort. His fingers were pleading with his brain to scratch, but feared that he would lose all focus and botch his chance. When the flap moved, he did as well, not even bothering to see who entered, more focused on getting out, turning for the entrance.

He was thrown off when he came into contact with something hard, and heavy, intoned by the distinct clang of metal, the impact forcing him back, but more from the surprise and pain. Falling squarely on his hindquarters, hands nursing at his sore nose, he let out a groan.

"Oh, you're awake." He heard a voice, snapping him back to the present, recognizing it as different from the last one. Deeper and with somewhat of an echo, maybe from the daze that was rattling his head. "What a relief. We thought you were a goner, what with the landmines and everything."

 _Landmines?_ "Wha-What…?" he opened his eyes, and was met with what he had to guess was some kind of metal hatch. Blinking to readjust his vision, it was exactly as he had glimpsed it. Was it a dead end? A door that had been installed to prevent his escape? To his bewilderment, it moved back a bit.

"Oh, sorry, I guess I got in your way. Do you want to get some fresh air?" He heard the voice again, and weirdly enough, it almost sounded like; to his returning senses, coming from above. Dreading the worse, his eyes slowly ascended, head lifted higher when he only found more metal. When he finally reached the top, he was further lost when his gaze reached past to the clear blue sky.

That was until the large body of metal moved again, almost like it was...bending down towards him.

Eyes. Wide, blue eyes that were framed in shadow locked with his own. His brain momentarily froze, as did his body, the itch dying down like it was never there.

"Hello," the metallic creature before him greeted in a deep and reverberant voice, the tone giving off a rather simple minded demeanor beneath all the bulk. It was about as wide as the front of a pickup truck, hull casted in reddish brown bronze. It had no visible mouth, yet, was speaking to him like there was someone inside, and there probably was. "My name is Guardromon. What's yours?"

Jaune...paused. Or rather, his mind had now completely shut down, before his eyes rolled back all the way, and he fell completely on his back.

"Uh..." Guardromon balked, more concerned than baffled by the young man's reaction. "You okay?" When the lad before him didn't respond, the gears inside his mind...creaked. With his large hand, he grabbed the prone youth by the right leg, ungracefully lifting the latter up to inspect, while his other was scratching at his own noggin. Deliberating of what action to take next, his crawling train of thought was soon interrupted by Bokomon, exiting the hut, looking like he had been searching for their guest inside in worry.

"There you are," the imp gasped out. "Wh-Gaurdromon? What in Quinglongmon's name happened to him?"

Guardromon looked down at Bokomon, who was staring back at him inquisitively, then at the body that he was dangling carelessly from his grip like a ragdoll. "Uh...keeping him safe?"

"Safe?" Bokomon parroted. "From wh-nevermind. Let's get him back inside. Place him on the bed. No, not like that! Gently! You didn't have to drop him on his head. Ugh. "

_Much later…_

Jaune awoke from what he felt was the umpteenth time, more than a little sick of it and willing to just face the music. Gathering back his bearings, he found the imp sitting right next to him, staring back with that same smile that he sported upon their first meeting. The two of them were quiet for a few minutes, before the creature broke the thick ice.

"Uh, hi," he greeted weakly, but with how first impressions had been going, he'll take what he could get. "Now, I know what you might be thinking right now, and I understand. But, you're gonna have to calm down, okay? I'm not gonna hurt you. Yes, I know that's a little hard for you to believe considering all of the things that you've seen and heard. No, you are not dreaming, so hurting yourself isn't gonna accomplish anything other than a concussion and maybe have people think that you're in desperate need of a therapist. Yes, you are safe and are free to leave, _but_ -" he emphasized when the lad looked like he was going to spring off of the cot again, "-I strongly advise you to wait for the proper time until we can safely escort you out of the village due to the ring of landmines that have been perimetered around it. If you're wondering about that, they're there to help keep the inhabitants in, along with some sentries to discourage and deter flight. I mean, it's a damn miracle that you're even alive and sitting right in front of me, so, that's a plus."

Jaune blinked, "What?"

Bokomon's brows rose, "Hm? Oh, uh, you, um...kinda...stepped on a landmine...and almost die-now I'm not entirely sure if you were really going to die, maybe just knocked unconscious. I mean, you were in a coma for like, three days when anybody else might have been out of it for weeks; months even. So, wow, I'm not really doing that much of a good job of calming you down, am I?"

At the silent shake of his head, Bokomon deflated with a sigh. "Look, guy, I know that we don't actually have that much of a rapport to work on, and I get that, completely, but I'm definitely on the level here when I tell you that you're perfectly safe. In all the time that you were unconscious, we could have done anything to you, but we didn't. And I really did mean it that we'd be more than happy to send you on your way if you want to leave that much, but you're gonna have to give it more time because of the circumstances. Whether you trust me or not falls entirely on you, because that's where I can't do anything else but make sure that you're taken care of. Okay?"

Jaune had taken to absorbing all of that, and a part of him was still on edge at the slightest sign of treachery, but seeing as how that the imp _seemed_ honest enough, he was forced to incline. Didn't mean that he was going to let his guard down, and wordlessly, the creature plainly understood. The itch then returned, inviting him to claw at the skin under the dirty fabric. Bokomon's expression became apologetic.

"Yeah, we really dropped the ball on what to give you in place of what used to be your old clothes. They were ruined by the explosion."

The blonde scoffed, more from the aggravating itchiness than skepticism, "If I was caught in a landmine, shouldn't...shouldn't I be...if not dead...I don't...feel all that hurt. Just... _itchy!_ " he moved off of the bed in a rush as he trailed off, sweaty and more than uncomfortable from the warm air and the confines of his burlap shirt and pants.

"Trust me, I couldn't believe my own eyes, either. All you have for that is my word, but the most important thing that we can be glad about is that you're okay, so..." Bokomon onced the kid over, remembering that they weren't able to wipe away all of the soot and grime that clung to him when they were treating him for any wounds.

That was another thing that astonished him; there were none that he could find. His leg hadn't even been perforated. Either humans were somehow more durable than the average digimon, or, there were glaring inconsistencies in the section of his book on them. An idea then occurred to the imp the longer he observed the lad. "Hey, maybe all you need is a bath. There's a hose outside. We can use that."

Jaune continued to squirm, "Don't you...have a bathroom?"

Bokomon chuckled weakly, "Uh, the people here don't exactly...need bathrooms."

"What?" Jaune glanced at him curiously. "Why?"

A loud series of footsteps then entered his range of hearing, causing him to steal a glance from behind, then rounding entirely in shock and fear, unceremoniously tumbling back on the cot with a yelp. " ** _What the heck is that!?_** "

Bokomon wasted no time to mediate upon seeing who it was that entered, "Waitwaitwaitwaitwait! It's not what you think!"

"Hello," Guardromon greeted in that same optimistically obtuse but cheerful demeanor, unheeding of; or simply not reading, the situation before him. "Glad you're awake. Me and the others were really worried."

Jaune didn't; couldn't, respond, gawking and shuffling further back against the wall, breath coming out in short gasps. Bokomon sighed perplexingly, "Guardromon, can you please wait outside? The kid isn't really up for too much company right now."

The mechanical monstrosity seemed to pause, as if processing the request, before his eyes went doleful and intoned, "Oh, sorry. I'll come back when he feels better." He then perked up, gesturing a small farewell, "I hope you get lots of rest and say hello to all of the villagers when you feel loads better. Take your time."

"Yeah," Bokomon drawled. "He'll do that."

Upon Guardromon's departure, Jaune was still clinging to the wall, but his nerves were slowly steadying, eyes still glued to the entrance which; now that he actually noticed a little, was a lot wider than he initially perceived. "Wh-Wh-What-What the heck-?" Jaune exclaimed, heart palpitating in record time.

Bokomon jumped on the bed, trotting up to the blonde, who was still trembling helplessly in dread at what the imp might do to him.

A sharp pain to the cheek came next, realizing a bit late that he had been slapped. The teen blinked a few times, but was met with another to the opposite cheek.

"Better?" Bokomon deadpanned, lips pursed and looking more than a little impatient.

Jaune's eyelids batted some more, his brain regaining back some sense of calm, nodding absently as the tension was gradually leaving his muscles, allowing him to slump limply down on the bed, with only his head to lean at the wall still.

"Still up for that bath?"

The boy nodded again, less out of any conscious form of agreement, and more from the lingering encounter, recollecting that it was the same sight that had caused him to faint. "Ho-How long exactly was I out again?"

"Not important anymore," Bokomon replied coolly, bounding back down on the floor and motioning with a hand for the blonde to follow. Hesitant at first, the itch eventually won out and Jaune trailed after the former at a careful pace. The outside was like he last surveyed, the only difference being that a few people were now milling about. "People" being a loose term.

Very, _very_ , **_very_** loose. Large floating gears with faces, alongside multiples of the same robotic figure that he had the displeasure of meeting earlier. Seeing more than just the front, the creatures were indeed as large as he initially presumed, if not larger, with wider bodies that accommodated what he had to guess was some kind of engine on its back, with proportionately large forearms and forelegs. Whether it was a suit or vehicle left much to the imagination, being held together with rivets.

Jaune's eye twitched, before deciding to just roll with it and proceed to where Bokomon was waiting. Thank goodness that his boxers were still with him. Otherwise, well, he doubted showing his junk to what he could only hope to the Gods wasn't a minor would be the apex of this entire debacle.

He found Bokomon around the corner of the house readying the hose; or more specifically, a fire hose. "Uh, do you even know how to work that?" Jaune asked worriedly, putting away his sorry excuses of replacement clothing to the side.

"Sure," the imp _sounded_ reassuring. " The Hagurumons and Gaurdromons have me wash them all the time."

"Huh?"

"Oh, those were the digimon that you saw back there."

"...Digimon?" Jaune carefully tasted the word in his mouth, pausing in confusion, not only from the odd term, but from the inexplicable sensation that he had...heard it before.

"My name's Bokomon, by the way," the imp introduced himself, now facing the other, hose at the ready. "Case you're wondering."

"Boko..." the sensation grew slightly in volume, palpitating like a long unused muscle, ambivalently introducing himself in turn. "I...I'm...Jaune."

"Jaune…?" the name also gave Bokomon pause, if only for a briefer moment, head tilting in contemplation. "Weird name." None too soon, tough, he perked up. "But, I like it. Kinda rolls off the tongue, don't 'ya think?"

Jaune only continued to stare at the smaller figure blankly, at a loss from the emotions that were whirring within him, nodding along to the compliment before he knew it, after which he was thrown back by a powerful stream of water from the hose being turned without his consent.

"Huh, I guess humans _are_ a lot lighter than they look," Bokomon concluded shrewdly, before the reality of what he did kicked in. "Uh...are you dead now?"

From the wall that he collided against, a moan of pain was the only confirmation that spoke of his status, with an apologetic Bokomon quickly attending to him.

After the bath, Jaune insisted on washing the burlap clothes that he had been given, with Bokomon suggesting that they could be dried against the exhaust pipes that were hot from the refinery, seeing as his old ones had been shredded by the blast.

Better than nothing, and once that was done, they weren't as filthy as to be unbearable, so he begrudgingly settled with them for the moment. It bothered him that he had been within a hair's width of death's threshold, but any ensuing trauma was suppressed by the presence of the alien lifeforms that he came to know were referred to as "Digimon".

Still shaken by his experiences, the boy realized that he could do nothing else but talk when Bokomon offered to help pass the time.

He asked the digimon a few basic questions, which the latter was all too happy to answer, standing a little taller like a teacher would consult a student. They talked for about an hour, and before long, the blonde felt like he got the basics down.

"So, I'm not really in Remnant anymore?" Jaune asked, wanting to be sure.

"Again, no. This is the Digital World, and where you are now is a mining town called the Terminal of Flame," Bokomon confirmed, not noticing the kid's face falling. "Why do you keep asking?"

The imp then saw the downtrodden expression that was plastered there, and relented, "You know, I tend to hear rumors of humans slipping into the Digital World randomly, but I was never really one for gossip like that. Looks like I stand corrected. There might be a possibility that there are others like you here, but, with how vast the world can be, that's gonna be a tough nut to crack."

That made the boy perk up slightly from his slump. "Did you also happen to hear of them going back home?" Jaune asked, hopeful, but wary of the obvious answer all the same.

Bokomon shook his head, extinguishing that hope, "Sorry, but information in the Digital World tends to get wonky. Even more so now because of the war."

"War?" Jaune repeated in question. His school held lessons on the Great War before, and the Faunus Wars that came after. Both were hailed as terrible and unfortunate events that served as cautionary warnings to not repeat the mistakes of the past. To that end, for him to have landed in a place that was in the midst of a war would have been quite the learning experience. Inspiring.

"Listen," Jaune licked his lips anxiously, "I just want to go home. If there's a war, then that's more of a reason for me to not be here."

Bokomon noddingly agreed, "Believe me, we're not crazy about it, either. But, that's just how it's been for the past 200 years or so."

Jaune blinked, "Did...I just hear that right?"

"Hear what?" Bokomon prodded, before getting what he meant. "Oh. Yeah, the war's been going on for over 200 years, give or take."

"H-How does that even..." Jaune sputtered, flummoxed that a war had managed to last that long.

"We have ceasefires every now and then," Bokomon explained, "mostly so that all sides can replenish their forces with more soldiers, resources. It's become sort of routine. There _are_ neutral areas, though, and you gotta be pretty insane to shoot first in any one of those." This gave the imp pause, "Come to think of it, there was that one incident that a group of Nanimon got all rowdy after drinking their fill of sake, but, eh, they were all deleted before it could escalate."

"Deleted?"

"You know; killed," Bokomon answered casually.

"Oh."

"It was the owner of the bar, whom you _definitely_ do not want to mess case you ever run into him. When they came back, though, I heard that Titamon threw such a fi-"

"W-W-Wait, wait! Came back?" Jaune repeated the words confusedly, checking if he had heard it right. At Bokomon's nod, he continued, "How?"

"Well, they were reborn at Primary Village, of c-" the words became caught in Bokomon's throat, having to again realize who he was talking to. He then explained more of what the boy needed to know about the Digital World, some that he had to do semantics on for him to follow, and others that were more like commentary of what he needed to avoid. When he was done, it was like the human was even more confused than before.

"Is this place...some kind of game?" Had he gone through a portal that led inside the computer? Was he now part of some kind of roleplaying fantasy that required him to go on an adventure in order to go home? Oh, hell no! "Look, I just want to get out of here. Is there any way to go back, at all?"

"I told you already," Bokomon tried to explain once more for the human's benefit, and his own, "all I know is that there could be a myriad of ways for you to go ho-no, wait! I didn't say that right. Hang on!"

Jaune felt like he had heard enough, back on his feet before Bokomon could finish, the imp trailing along in an attempt to talk him down and make sure that he wouldn't land into any additional trouble. They managed to reach a street, failing to notice the large crowd of Guardromon gathering in the square before it was too late for him to stop, running headlong into the human's left calf.

"Will you please just listen to me? I want to help you as much as anyo-eh?" He noted that the human had stopped, but not for the initial reason of what he thought was him calming down, but to where his own gaze followed as he took in the sight of the crowd. "Oh, no..."

Jaune must have heard him, whispering, "What's going on?"

"You need to hide," Bokomon hissed, stealing a glance from behind and singling out one of the houses that the Guardromon rarely; if ever, used. _Why do they even_ have _furniture?_ "Quick, in here!"

Jaune barely trusted the imp, but the air was rife with an unease that he could feel was being broadcasted by the inhabitants. The Hagurumons were suspended still in the air in an orderly manner, same with the Guardromons on the ground, assembled together akin to that of soldiers. None were making sounds nor movement, almost statuesque.

The duo entered the house, wasting no time to terminate the gap between them and what they could gleam was a closet at the far end of the abode. At closer inspection, it was a storage locker for mining equipment and tools. There was some space left after rifling through what little tools there were; a shovel alongside two pickaxes, rusted and collecting dust, the corners strung up with thick cobwebs, since the Guardromon often forgot that they even had one of these to keep their stuff in. Bokomon motioned for the young man to go first, but refrained to accompany him.

"You can't just leave me here," Jaune pleaded in a hushed tone, unable to put down a sliver of suspicion at this admittedly sudden turn of events. "What the heck's even happening?"

"The Terminal of Flame is part of Titamon's territory. He's one of the major powers that are fighting in the war," Bokomon elaborated urgently. "The people here provide him with the ore that he needs to make weapons in exchange for his protection."

Jaune could understand that, but his expression still held question. "But every now and then, Titamon's representatives would come here and take a few of the inhabitants and have them fight as soldiers."

"Forced conscription?" Jaune surmised, earning a nod from the digimon.

"Them finding you here could mean a lot of things, _none_ of them good. So, you need to _hide_!" Bokomon pushed him inside as he trailed off when he felt a presence nearing from behind, closing the door so as not to make a sound. Rounding to face who it was, he breathed a sigh of relief when he found that it was just Guardromon.

The same Guardromon that had received him upon awakening from his coma. "You scared, too, Bokomon?"

Bokomon nodded, too nervous to hold back the reflex, "Are you gonna hide it out here?"

Guardromon inclined his head in kind, or about as much as he could given his anatomy, "So, is he hiding?"

Bokomon swallowed despite the biting dread that was festering all over him, "Yeah."

"Good, I don't want to have to see another friend leave," Guardromon said morosely. Jaune listened in as best he could from the door of his shelter, the communion drawing him. "They're...they're going to take away more of my friends again."

"I know, Guardromon," Bokomon lamented, feeling the same in that some of the inhabitants that he knew personally were picked off and sent to evolve and fight. "But, they'll come back. Some of them have. Who says more can't?"

"But, it's not the same," Guardromon griped sadly. "They don't...remember. Not me, you, anyone." Jaune felt a pit in his stomach opening. "Last week, I talked to a Guardromon that I knew ever since we were Hagurumon, and he...he didn't even stop to talk or...say hello. I kept bothering him until he noticed me, but it was like I was a...stranger. He said that we could be friends, but it wasn't the same... I know that when you're reborn, that's how it is, but..." he looked down at his empty palm, a bead of moisture landing at the center, "those memories...have to mean something...right?"

Jaune listened through the metal door of the locker, with the pit seeming to widen at the mention of memories. _When a Digimon is deleted, their data is simply recycled and reconfigures at Primary Village. Trouble is, if you don't have a strong enough will, everything that was you; memories, personality, quirks, all of it would be gone. So, in a way, you are dead. And the one that comes back to start life all over again would be an entirely new person._

He could empathize. Wait, he could? Well, it wasn't that hard to imagine a scenario where his family would no longer remember him, or at least recognize him. Although, why did it feel like there was more to it that he wasn't fathoming? From his tenth year of life and onward, he would, at certain points, experience a void. Things that he felt should have been there. Like there _was_ something terribly missing from his life.

"I wish it _was_ different," Bokomon jibed glumly. "That way, I wouldn't be able to forget all of the information that I learned; past and present. I must have gone over a hundred cycles by now. What I'd give to remember even a fraction of what I used to know."

Guardromon sniffled, even though Jaune was sure that the thing didn't have a visible nose to speak of, contributing to his theory that there had to be someone inside of it, despite Bokomon contradicting him of that notion. Guardromons; like all Machine and Mutant Digimon as he was told, were as alive as the both of them. "So, uh, where is he?"

Bokomon would have naturally answered, but his gut feeling; which was rarely wrong, snappily intervened in time. "Why?"

"I..." Gaurdromon's voice started to shake at the query. "...I just want to make sure that he's safe."

"So long as he's hidden, he should be, and so will you." Bokomon's gut feeling grew. "Now, be quiet."

"Can't you, uh, at least tell me?" Guardromon averted from looking at the imp straight, only serving to confirm the rising suspicion. Bokomon figured that he needed to pull out his only card in order to reign the digimon in and have him spill.

The stare.

Stealing a few glances, Guardromon's body shivered. Lightly at first, before the vibrations of his metal hull began to fill the room, leaving little doubt that it could be heard from outside. Bokomon bore into him like a high-powered drill, the Machine Digimon now flailing so much that Jaune had to spread both arms out at each end to keep from wobbling, leaving him vulnerable to the stray particles displaced by the disturbance, prompting him to control his breathing.

Eventually, the big lug caved, "Okay, okay! I give!" the metal simpleton fell on his knees, the weight of his descent displacing the furniture a bit, and forcing Jaune to valiantly keep his body from landing on the precariously strewn equipment.

Guardromon looked at Bokomon pleadingly, tears shining from his optics. "He-He promised...he promised me..."

"What are you talking about, Guardromon?" Bokomon asked intensely, a cold sensation that ran up his spine inferring that he knew what the digimon must have meant.

" ** _Haouken!_** "

Both reacted to the attack, with Bokomon leaping out of the way, while Guardromon was slower, using his right arm to block much of the attack's brunt, but was still knocked off his station, skidding along the floor with sparks flying. To the boy inside the locker, it was like a bomb had gone off, only this time, he was fortunate enough to not be within its radius. That did nothing to allay him from enduring the shock wave left in the wake, however, the doors nearly being torn off their hinges as he braced for dear life.

"I gave you one job, and you blew it." A new, much deeper voice piped in, barely able to make it out from the ringing of his eardrums. "My mistake for thinking that a chode like you could pull it off."

Bokomon peered through the cloud wrought by the blast, coughing up a storm. A large shadow could be made out from the gaping maw of the once intact house, with only a few bars of light allowed to spill through, pointing to just how much this stranger must have towered over the rest.

Jaune's teeth were gritting, both to still keep his breathing in check and to help endure the twists his body had to make to keep from giving away his position, but he had a sinking feeling that their efforts were slowly becoming in vain, sweating bullets at the budding desperation of their plight.

"You still alive, rust for brains?" the voice went on, no more pleased that he had dealt out a hefty penalty for Guardromon's tardiness in delivering.

One more cough escaped from the imp, leaning on one knee as he recognized all too well who it was that had brazenly barged in on them. "Orgemon..."

"Gold star for you, runt," the one called Orgemon remarked without looking in his direction. "Alright, I'm gonna give the both of you five seconds. Got that? Five. Seconds. Where is he?"

"Where's who?" Bokomon dared to respond, wincing a little.

"You want to play _that_ game, huh? Fine by me," Orgemon resolved, all too happy to oblige as he drew an arm back, curling his thick fingers into a fist. "Last chance, chodes. I'd rather..." his dialogue and prepping of the attack halted when his sights wandered to pick whose data he had to load first, firmly landing on the storage locker, witnessing that the doors had been dented a bit from the aftershock of his first charge.

"Really?" Orgemon was almost insulted.

_Shortly…_

"Let me go!" Jaune begged helplessly, squirming within Orgemon's grip, the monster's hand almost enclosing his entire upper body, leaving only his forelegs free. The monster was unlike anything he had ever seen, apart from a Grimm, and that was only through online videos and documentaries at school.

It was green with long, unkempt white hair, pointed ears adored by earrings, two unevenly sized horns, and spikes jutting from its shoulders. Its mouth was wide open, exposing a horrendous set of canines and sharp teeth that left little speculation that it could chew through solid stone, or reduce an average sized man into pasty mush. That last thought made him swallow the lump that leapt up to his throat the moment he was discovered, his hiding place literally torn in half like paper.

Around its neck flowed a black cloak that was torn at the edges. It wore black shorts with a belt, a bracer on its right arm, red bandages on both its left arm and right leg and multiple black belts on its left leg. It carried around in its free hand a large, spiked club that resembled a femur bone, and it likely was.

On its left arm, below the spikes on its shoulders, he could make out a marking or tattoo in the shape of a skull and crossbones, with metal studs jutting out of the knuckles. The knuckles on his right had none, but what was there instead was a scar at the back.

"Quiet!" Orgemon; whose name he had the displeasure of finding out, snapped at him, making sure to draw their faces within an inch of each other for emphasis. Jaune nearly threw up from the exceedingly foul breath, but stifled the urge with everything he had, lest he incurred the digimon's wrath further. "All you need to do is look pretty and I won't have to do anything that _you'll_ regret, **_capice_**!?"

Jaune's lips trembled, face set in horror as he gave a frightened nod. "Good."

The ogre fell back into a march, heading for the square where the populace was still present. At the other end were newcomers that Jaune had to guess was Orgemon's entourage. What he first mistook for dogs were strange canine-like critters with grey fur, long ears like a rabbit and a long, cat-like tail with three belts worn at the end of it. They had large, black claws on their forelegs. One was sitting on the ground on all fours, the others standing tall and smug, grinning and leering up at their master's caught prey, shoulders oscillating in snickers. Jaune counted four, but there could have been more hiding behind corners.

Stopping by the middle, Orgemon stood a little taller, hefting the youth up like a trophy, and only adding to the latter's fears that that might be what was being reserved for him. That train of thought was derailed when he was given what could be amounted to as a light shake, then another, and another. After a brief pause, he was vigorously jiggled like one would a toy rattle, still suspended in midair. It only made him queasier, fighting back another impulse to spill his guts.

Orgemon's eyes narrowed even further from the perpetual frown that it always sported. "Why isn't it working?" he growled in irritation, miffed from failing at whatever it was that he was trying to invoke. Bokomon and Guardromon had followed closely behind and could only watch helplessly at the proceedings, but the latter was soon fingered by the green demon to come forward. "Were you pulling my leg when you told me that this was a human?"

Guardromon, shaking in a mixture of anxiety, fear, guilt and worry for the youth, explained as best he could. "W-Well, that was what Bo- _I_ got from a book that I checked to-to make sure."

Orgemon, his companions, Bokomon, and even the rest of the village, arched their collective brows in unison at him. "You read?"

Guardromon was actually a little offended at this, "H-Hey! I'm not _that_ dumb. Of course I can read!"

"Uh-hu," Orgemon mumbled skeptically. "Okay, genius, answer the million yottabyte question; why isn't it responding?"

 _It?_ Bokomon wondered, his brain turning to figure out what it was that could have spurred Orgemon to come here off schedule besides to capture just one human.

"I-I don't know," Guardromon struggled to come up with an answer, and he was crestfallen at the obvious that he had none, grasping at nothing else but straws. "M-Maybe you're...just doing it wrong?"

"What else _is_ there!?" Orgemon carped, lowering the arm that held Jaune, the teen grateful for such small favors. "Did not the legends say that the Spirit will appear in the presence of a human child?"

 _Spirit?_ "Oh no," Bokomon muttered under his breath, gaining a rough idea of what Orgemon was talking about now, and who this was all really for.

"Y-Yes, i-it does indeed," Guardromon stuttered, something that was already grating on the green digimon's anorexic sense of patience. "B-But maybe the human just isn't...young enough?"

"Young enough?" Orgemon repeated in consideration, lifting up the human so that they were facing each other again. "How old are you?"

At the blonde's initial silence, he only needed to lift his club. "S-Seventeen!" Jaune squawked.

"Seventeen!?" Orgemon echoed more loudly, then seemed to go into thought, counting off with the fingers that he could spare from gripping his club. "Let's see, one year is equal to...te-tw-twelve! Twelve months! That makes another twelve one more, and that equals two. No, wait! Two and a half..."

_20 minutes later…_

"...And that makes ten months more, carried to the, err...What was your birthday again?" Most; if not all, of those present were beginning to think that things had stretched on for too long already, with one of the canines that were still standing with its arms crossed letting out a yawn, the other having fallen asleep, and a pair on the side comparing the lengths of one another's claws.

Even Jaune's earlier distress was all but gone as he was still being held against his will, looking more resigned than afraid. He answered with a tired sigh, "July 15."

"Right, right, and July is...how many months from January?" Groans and sighs were thrown all around. Bokomon was only too happy to take back the analogy that he had made earlier regarding Guardromons with a internal apology. All of it. A Rasielmon would probably contract brain damage if she ever tried to tutor this Orgemon. Hell, if he hadn't deduced Jaune's hiding place before he started counting down, the imp feared that they'd have been stuck for an entire week, if not a month.

Confounded, and having had enough, Orgemon threw the arm that held Jaune up. "Close enough! Seventeen doesn't even sound that old."

"Really?" Bokomon couldn't help but jab.

Orgemon growled, his rage coming to a boil; if it hadn't already, "Laugh it up, you miserable peons - _laugh_! But, let it be known that I, Orgemon, shall have the last. Now that we have captured a human, Lord Titamon shall finally obtain an edge to win this war and ascend to his rightful place of reigning supreme! With the Spirit of Legend, we will acquire the power to slaughter our enemies and establish our dominance of being the strongest kingdom. You all here should count your lucky stars to even be alive for this historic day! Is Titamon not your beloved lord and master? Did you all not swear your undying allegiance to him?"

The villagers didn't answer, nor did Orgemon expect them to, but their eyes gave away too much of their reluctance. "Need I remind you of the fate that will befall on this village if there is to be even a shred of dissidence among you?"

That did the trick, to his vindictive pleasure, all of them shouting praises hailing his lord; _their_ lord. At the mere flip of a switch, trash like these could be swayed to turn on one another if it could benefit them, his little spy being a shining example, even if said Gaurdromon was apparently wallowing in shame at where he stood, the only one not joining in on the hurrahs.

Bokomon bravely plopped forward, having seen and heard enough, "This is crazy! That human isn't worth anything, and what's more, there's _never_ been any solid evidence of the Legendary Spirit existing for ages. All that it amounts to are rumors, gossip and stories to tell child digimon to help inspire them. How do I know that? Because my book holds nearly all the information that you could get about the Digital World. The _Harmonious Ones_ are less incredible compared to your precious Spirit."

Some of the villagers present exchanged looks and glances at the rebuke, and to Orgemon's returning umbrage, a few were wordlessly applauding the imp on.

"Fool!" the green monster spat acidly. "Lord Titamon himself had tasted the power of a Spirit centuries ago."

"Yeah, right," Bokomon rolled his eyes. "Then enlighten us if you're so certain."

"And I shall!" Orgemon declared confidently, clearing his throat. "It was over a thousand years ago, five children had been summoned by two of the Three Great Angels to battle their corrupted brother, Cherubimon, and his army of followers." He paused for effect, satisfied by the burgeoning shock on Bokomon's face.

Uncaring of his quarry, Jaune was also listening, drawn in by the tale, to his own growing astonishment. "My Lord was but a mere Shamamon at the time, tasked with guarding one of the Legendary Spirits. For one reason or another, Shamamon was exposed to its power, leading the chosen children to come to his aid to relinquish him of it. He had never forgotten that day, and was one of the rare few to survive the onslaught of the Royal Knights, paving the way for the revival of the Demon Lord of Pride, **_Lucemon_**!"

All of the digimon, including the ones that accompanied him, shuddered at the mention of the name. No one, not even those who could claim to be the foremost authority on the Digital World's long and colorful history, could deny the existence of The Great Deceiver. The Traitor. The Fallen Angel that was vanquished by the Original Warrior Ten to the depths of The Dark Area eons ago.

 _Lucemon…?_ Hearing it sent a chill curdling up Jaune's spine. It was a sensation that he thought he wouldn't...hadn't felt since...since…

Orgemon, by his end, was thankful that his lord had confided in him this most well kept secret, pointing to a level of trust beyond that of his inner circle. Even he had been taken aback that his master was one of the few surviving digimon that had witnessed the reformatting of their world after what could be infamously deemed as the Second Great War for those who were privy to the knowledge of the past.

"As such, it is only fitting that Lord Titamon lay claim to what should be _his_ by proxy," the green warrior raised his club triumphantly. "And I, his most devoted follower, am here to fulfill that order to bring glory to his name and our kingdom!"

When the wind had done its work in carrying his words to his captivated audience, all was silent, with only the noises from the refinery proceeding incessantly.

"Now that I've given you all a clearer perspective," Orgemon pursued, gladly shifting subjects. "It is my hope, and for _all your sakes_ , that you show me where the Spirit is! The Terminal of Flame, if you require for me to add, was said to hold the Spirit of Fire before the reformatting. Redundant, I know, but hey, I don't make these rules. Do you? So, with that out of the way - WHERE! IS! IT!?"

Those at the front; Bokomon included, flinched at the giant ogre's booming voice, as did Jaune, who thought that he was going to go deaf the longer he'd be around the cacophonous fiend. Swallowing, and with no other option but to comply for this travesty to end, Bokomon slowly strode forward again so that he was directly in front of the slaughter waiting to happen.

"I...I may have an idea of...where it is," the imp relented regrettably, knowing that if he was to do this, he would condemn countless more digimon to their early graves. Sure, they had Primary Village, but was it really worth the detriment of losing one's self to be reborn again? He had died and lived it more times than he could count, much more if he was to go by guesswork. He stole a glance from Jaune, who was reasonably ambivalent, but nonetheless terrified of the implications that anyone could have pieced together.

He had nothing to do with this. He didn't belong here. So, why?

Why did he feel like he wanted his help?

Soon, Bokomon led the group comprised of him, Orgemon, his current favorite thing in the world; that being Jaune, his guards, and Gardromon, who felt like he needed to come along as well, if only to ask if the promise was still valid, down the underground section of the village. He kept his end of the bargain, sacrificing his dignity, integrity, and more importantly, one that he could happily regard as a friend, all for Titamon to no longer conscript his people.

With the Spirit, Orgemon convinced him that they wouldn't even need that many soldiers anymore, so that excluded them from the lot. He still felt like a fool.

Bokomon signaled for them to stop when they arrived upon a dark cavern. Orgemon nodded down to his guards; whom were called Gazimon, to bring out the flashlights that they had on hand. He didn't let up in his hold on Jaune, who decided to just tag along until all of this was over. Or, if he was dead. He didn't want to wager which would come first if he had anything to say about it.

Beams of light filtered through the passageway, illuminating a large chamber that appeared to be long abandoned if the rust weren't obvious signs. Portions of the walls gave way to rock and soil, pointing to pressure slowly overcoming and burying the place, it being the deepest the town was years ago before the Guardromon expanded to mine for more ore. "This it?"

Bokomon lagged in his response, "Yeah." His eyes scanned forward, trying to pinpoint where it should be based on old lores. "There!" At the center, or what he could only deduce was the center, ruffled that a large chunk of the floor was now entombed in earth. It hadn't been like that the last time he was here. Then again, the Guardromons could really get the lead out if they were on to some primo cache of ore.

He was startled when Orgemon suddenly punted him forward, but only enough to throw him off balance and stumble on ahead. He whirled his head back, wanting to chide the ruffian for that gyp, but it died down his throat the moment he caught the way one of the flashlights seemed to make the menacing digimon's visage even more terrifying, the promise of a pointless death awaiting him behind those cold, cruel eyes.

Gulping the admonishment down audibly, he carefully stalked forward to the spot, the others not far behind. He directed them to an old platform, used long ago to hold cauldrons of the smelted ore.

"Right here?" Orgemon catechized to make sure. At Bokomon's nod, he held out his quarry so that he was positioned face down above the platform, drawing small whimpers from the boy that was now gripped with apprehension at what would happen.

They waited. And waited, until Orgemon's remaining patience fizzled out, and he chucked the boy over at the mountain of soil, his impact none too gentle.

"You lying rat."

Before Bokomon grasped at a chance to explain, he was hit squarely on the head by the bone club, slinging him near to where the blonde had landed.

"Bokomon! Jaune!" Guardromon moved, running as fast as his legs could carry him, barely dodging Orgemon's swing by pulling his upper body back and riding on the heavy momentum to slide forward on his knees, the skidding metal on metal producing sparks. The Gazimon tried to flank him, but he activated the booster on his back to shoot up off the ground, evading their assault.

Burning fuel, he rushed to where the two were struggling to recover.

The Gazimon looked to their leader. "What now, boss?"

Orgemon didn't even stop to think, "We bury them, along with the entire village. Lord Titamon no longer needs this place as much as they may still think he does, so why prolong the inevitable?"

The Gazimon shared grins, sadistically warming to the idea of loading more data to grow even stronger than they already were. They went on ahead to the surface, leaving their leader to take out the trash. He drew a fist back, easily aiming for the roof.

" ** _Haouken!_** "

* * *

_"What's wrong?"_

_"Did you...really mean everything that you said back there?"_

_"Uh...well, I can't say that it wasn't exactly embarrassing, me opening up like that, but it was for real. I wouldn't be sticking around if you guys haven't been the best of friends that I've ever had. And hey, stop feeling sorry for yourself. Like you said, we're gonna get through this."_

_"...Thanks, Sun."_

_"No problem, pal. And hey, after we win, we'll rub it in Cardin's face the whole trip home."_

_"I heard that, you doofuses!"_

_"Nora still got hurt, though. And Ren is probably having second thoughts, too."_

_"We_ all _care about Nora. Why do you think Cardin even argued with you in the first place?"_

_"Still heard that, morons."_

_"Ren's just worried for his sister. How many did you say that you have again?"_

_"About seven."_

_"And you'd feel the if one of them got hurt, right?"_

_"Yeah..."_

_"...Would you stop that? You're gonna spoil the mood again. I swear, you're like a horse faunus."_

_"A horse faunus?"_

_"For the looooong face that you're making right now."_

_"Hahaha, that's dumb."_

_"Not as dumb as you're being right now. Come on, let's go through the food Bokomon and Neamon brought back with 'em. You'll feel better with a fuller stomach."_


	3. Evolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slight revision. There were some portions missing and I had to redo the chapter and post it again because of an issue I was having with the HTML function.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Under copyright laws, I do not own any material that may have been used in the making of this story. All respective properties belong to Rooster Teeth and Bandai.

The following seconds rocketed over Jaune’s head, dazed and coughing from the spoiled air and dirt that intruded his lungs, his perception dusted with stars from landing on the coarse soil. His neck wheeled involuntarily upon shifting to his knees, only to steal a glance of a large and heavy shadow engulfing him.

Blackness.

Any sound that he may have thought he heard, however blurred his senses were, the darkness had swallowed him whole. Little by little, he felt a fraction of himself slipping away, and an instinct that told him that this was one where he would never again awake. He struggled to recall the shenanigans that led up to this, but his mental strength was fading; slowly, agonizingly being chipped away for every second that the darkness held him, confined him, imprisoned him. The will was abandoning him.

Whittling, like the petals of a flower. Jaune peered at the distance, within the eye of the darkness, and there, stood the flower, its stem crooked; limp, but layered with an otherworldly glow that drew him near curiously. He reached a hand out, wanting to touch it, hold it, to caress such a pitiful and fleeting existence. But, then he retreated, fearful of speeding up the inevitable. It held only enough of its once lustrous petals; now droopy and sickly, to recognize it as a Marigold. Fields would dot the hilltops near his home, relatively clean of Grimm due to the huntsmen residing in their village.

At noon, when the sun was at its highest, he’d spare a bit to admire how they shined brightly, proudly, and with the passing breeze, _wildly_. From a vibrant yellow, to being splotched with striking shades of orange to key in the resemblance of flames.

To humor such a notion, there were instances where he would be blindsided by an urge to reach out and feel for any tangible signs of heat. Still, the disheartening tug of emptiness reared itself every time, coming and going - maddening. Like something; just _something_ , was missing.

But, what?

His old childhood ambitions notwithstanding, he wanted for nothing. So, what was it that he was lacking? He wasn’t short on family, had his three squares, a roof over his head. His life was content, peaceful - outright idyllic.

Except, for an infernal loneliness that would plague him on particular days. Like, there would be someone next to him that he expected to be there if he looked. A hand that he could hold, a shoulder that he could link his arm around, a fist that he could bump with his own, smiles and laughter, sorrow and grief, anger and disputes. And it wasn’t just with one. There were two; no, three - **_four_ ** of them. They were his...his…

If he could remember. Their voices, their faces, where they lived-

“ _I’m from Vacuo. Not really a nice place. But, what’re you gonna do? ‘S only home I know._ ”

“ _The best Kingdom around;_ Atlas!”

“ _Kuroyuri. That’s where we’re from. It’s in Mistral if you all ever want to come visit._ ”

Their names-

“ _Sun Wukong. Don’t wear it out. And, yes, that_ did _sound cliche._ ”

“ _Cardin_ Win _chester! Someday,_ everybody _in Remnant’s gonna know_ that _name._ ”

“ _I’m Lie Ren. This is Nora Valkyrie. Or, that_ was _her name before our parents adopted her._ ”

Jaune’s fingers tensed, enthralled by the allure of the flower, mouth dryest that it had ever been, the urge returning with a vengeance. At a whim, he held out his hand, but yet to touch it, diffidence worming its way into his heart. It made him...fearful. Afraid. That if he were to cross such a threshold, there would be no turning back. Ever.

As soon as the tip of his index brushed along a loose petal, a fierce explosion consumed him, but he did not relent, did not back away, nary a flinch in sight at the deluge of flames carrying the threat of incineration. Rather, instead of hellish pain, it was soothing. He was at ease, more than he had felt in the years since...

Since…

When the fire finally dispelled, it was chased by a blinding flash of light. Jaune brought up an arm to shield his eyes, wanting to see what became of the flower. Only managing a glimpse, he saw that it was gone, but in its place was a shape as if carved from the light itself. Any earlier misgivings had dissolved along with the fire, the intensity blanketing him immediately upon grabbing it.

A voice. _Her_ voice.

_The game to decide your future has begun._

_Would you like to start?_

_..._

“...Yes.”

“Hey... _hey_!”

The blonde stirred, but largely remained inert, drumming up additional worry from Bokomon that Guardromon’s bulk did more harm than the intended good of shielding them from the cave in, the big idiot failing to take into account that he could have been a _tad_ bit more gentle in his approach when he made it just in the nick of time. Then again, had he been a second too late, he’d find himself back at Primary Village, none the wiser. He didn’t know enough to be certain of the lad’s fate, however. Could humans be reborn? More research material for later. That was _if_ they could all get out of this fiasco with wounds to lick.

“Jaune, wake up,” the imp tried again, nudging him desperately, time being of the utmost essence. The kid was alive, thank Yggdrasil, but unless they found a means to escape the death trap they were now smacked dab in the middle of, it wouldn’t matter for long. He gazed up again to see how Guardromon was valiantly holding the line, the larger digimon’s eyes alight to provide the only source of illumination, and felt the distraught grip tighter at the miserable sight of his friend, with a few grunts of pain to express how the combined weight of rock and metal was taking its toll on the machine digimon's body.

“Guardromon,” Bokomon swallowed. “You shouldn’t have-”

“D-Don’t-” Guardromon cut him off, breath coming out shallow. “Can’t...talk...”

“You idiot!” the tiny digimon chided on. “Orgemon is just going to destroy the village and scan everyone, anyway. So, why!?”

“You...really need...to ask?” Guardromon grunted fretfully, as if it wasn’t wholly obvious that he was serving as the linchpin between their survival and certain doom. Bokomon was startled by a sound of metal creaking, followed by a few rocks spilling down. His hull may have been durable enough to take a hit and withstand subterranean hazards, but not to this extent, his left knee torn from its hinges, the stump digging into the ground.

Above the chamber were long abandoned facilities, equipment and paraphernalia, in addition to the metallic particles locked in the sediment from centuries of use. It was hard to imagine the limits that Guardromon was pushing for his body to not be completely flattened by the combined weight, let alone staying conscious.

“Guardromon…” Bokomon’s eyes stung, touched, before re-shifting gears into looking for a way out. He was no Drimogemon, and him knocking headlong into a big chunk of debris would be one hell of a story to tell over drinks.

Okay, what next?

Oh, to hell with it. What else _was_ there? As far as he could guess at that moment, Orgemon and his lot were already having the time of their lives culling off the population as punishment for what he must have erroneously concluded to be a betrayal, ignoring the shameless hypocrisy behind it. With such slim odds staring down at them, it was a wonder that he thought that they could have ever come to a compromise with a hardass like Titamon in the first place.

The warlord wanted their ore, and at the time, the Gardromon were all too happy to give it if that meant avoiding any direct involvement in the war.

At first.

It didn’t take long for him to demand that those under his territories enlist as soldiers to replenish their numbers, if not used as fodder by his own forces for their data, to the imp’s intuitive suspicion. Anyone would have pegged them as fools and weaklings, but in the face of the reckoning force that rightly bore the epithet ‘ **One-Man Division** ’; a digimon reputed to have given members of the _Olympus XII_ pause, the sheer thought of resisting was nothing short of a formal request for suicide.

Something must have changed for Titamon to have decided that their insignificant town was no longer a stout investment. Not that he could blame the guy. The barbarian had to be as sly as he was calamitously powerful to remain a major player in the game, and he would change his approaches at a dime if he could help not pulverizing whatever it was that was giving him a bad day.

In the meantime, _their_ bad day wasn’t even close to starting, the situation teetering on the brink. As soon as he was about to slump down in defeat, he heard the faint rustling of movement, and to his rising excitement upon stealing a glance, the young man was stirring again; livelier than before judging from the arm that flew up to rub at his head.

Bokomon’s throat became caught, relief overcoming his tiny form at the sight of the boy awakening. It was strange that he would feel this much for a complete stranger. He was no bleeding heart, but he had enough courtesy to help anyone so long as they agreed to not beat the crap out of him for his data. Much of the reason for him residing with the Guardromon was that they were the friendliest bunch that he had come across since migrating from Primary Village.

Some of the Guardromon that had lived the longest; including their own, however, swore that he’d always been a residence, hence, why they were so quick to take him in in spite of the war. A previous life? Lives? Did he _always_ come here after every birth cycle? It’d be astounding if true, and highly improbable for him to have retained any scrap of memories for that hypothesis to be feasible. But then, how could he explain these emotions? Certain compulsions that baffled him, with some that reared themselves out more than others, such as spending the majority of his free time out at the border, keeping his distance from the minefield, but enough so as to watch for whoever might come, almost like he was waiting for someone.

That particular compulsion withered ever since meeting Jaune.

From the moment that he got a better glimpse of his face, learned his name, _talked_ to him, it was like a heavy dose of the same nostalgia overtook everything else. Being with him felt intimately familiar, which leaned a little on the creepy side without the right context, but hey, that was what internal monologues were for.

He frantically crawled up to the boy, who was still flat on his back and nursing what he could definitely empathize was one monster of a headache. “Jaune! Are-Are you okay? Anything broken? I’m sure Guardromon’s feeling really, really, _really_ sorry, honest!”

A noncommittal moan escaped from his lips, face creasing, responding absently to the imp’s frantic words that he barely noted, “What?”

“A rock hit you on the head before Guardromon saved us, is what I meant,” Bokomon verbally dodged, pausing. “Okay, maybe ‘saved’ is too strong of a word. More like, hanging by a thread.” He capped off with a snort, “But, hey, look at the positives. At least we’re together. Right, guys?”

Both Guardromon and Jaune groaned, more from their own respective plight than irritation at Bokomon’s attempt at allaying the mood.

The blonde let out a breath, “Anyone care to recap what the hell just happened?”

“Orgemon got mad that he didn’t get what he wanted, buried us here for it, and is most likely merrily slaughtering the citizenry of the Terminal right now for their data to twist the knife in because he and his boss are dicks,” Bokomon responded snappily, sounding none too pleased. “I’d be stringing together hyperbole if this wasn’t a typical day in the Digital World.”

“I know.”

“Yeah, you should. You-” Bokomon balked. “What?”

“Not a lot has changed,” Jaune said in a calmer temperament. “I’m sorry, Bokomon.”

The tiny digimon paused, “...Sorry for what?”

“Close your eyes.”

“Excuse me?”

“When I give the signal, close your eyes,” Jaune told him, bridging their gazes in the dim lighting, the human’s own shining with a confidence that hadn’t been there earlier. “Trust me.”

He did.

Bizarrely enough, without saying another word, he was willing to entrust his life to this boy. A complete stranger. Well, it could have been the gradual depletion of breathable air that was messing with their minds, but he figured that delirium was a small blessing compared to the crippling fear of dying.

“You too, Guardromon,” he extended to the machine, grateful for the hospitality and kindness shown to him from the beginning, and a little embarrassed for the poor way that he had received them.

Guardromon was in no position to question the human, and even if he was, he would have found no reason to refuse a friend for a simple task. Both agreed to it, and not a second more, Jaune held his hand out.

At the outskirts of the village, in a moderately sized crater, ruins of what was on Jaune’s person lay scattered about if they hadn’t been dragged off by the wind, shards of his scroll included among shreds of his hoodie and what could vaguely be identified were snippets of his jeans. All of the pieces; each and every one, no matter the distance of where some may have landed, began to exhibit a gentle glow, before coalescing whole.

The device; reconstituted, then jetted towards the town. Past the turmoil, the destroyed and burning homes, the remaining villagers that were defending their lives from the merciless ministrations of their former benefactors, and lastly, past a smug Orgemon in the midst of commanding one of his men to power on through to finish off the resistance.

“What the-!?” the green ogre squawked, nearly thrown off balance by the ball of light that headed his way at record speed, and would have blown off a chunk of his torso had he not jerked on reflex. “The hell?” He was flabbergasted further when the damn thing made a quick turn for the tunnel that they entered earlier and exited after cutting off those three loose ends, disappearing entirely.

“Sir?” the unit that he had intended to direct before the interruption referred to him swiftly, having also caught a glimpse of the stray projectile with his fellows. “Should we look into that?”

Orgemon pondered on it, “Three of you stay here to take out the survivors and any stragglers. You!” He pointed to a Gazimon that chose to remain by his side to radio in a report back to their outpost. “With me.”

“Ho!” the four of them saluted, or sounded their acknowledgement for those that could no longer use their front limbs.

As the chaos ensued once again, the General and his subordinate wasted no time to intercept what that was, and probably waste the damn chode that judged poorly to fuck with them while they were in the middle of business.

Guardromon, by his end, was nearing the end of his ropes, his back engine crushed, bolts coming loose. Still, if this was to serve as penance for his moment of weakness; his betrayal, then so be it. Bokomon shared in the anxiety, but chose to remain vigilant for the signal despite the looming pessimism. The air was getting thinner, making it harder to breathe the longer they were trapped. Warmer, too.

“ _Warmer?_ ” Bokomon thought as his senses picked up a steadily rising heat source coming from his side, where Jaune was, his body emanating the same fiery glow that he had witnessed just days ago. “ _Again?._ ”

Jaune’s lips curled into a knowing smile, body glowing brighter and hotter. Guardromon was momentarily distracted from his pain, the toil now a frivolous flight of fancy compared to the warmth that he and Bokomon were bathing in, a trickle of his strength returning, but enough that he doubled in his efforts, energized by thoughts of wanting to protect his friends.

Bokomon gaped in disbelief at the larger digimon’s second wind, before turning back to Jaune, the burgeoning glow irradiating the once dim cavern.

“Why are you smiling?”

Jaune glanced up at the imp, “Hm?”

“We’re...” Bokomon bit his lip, “even if we do manage to escape from here, Orgemon would still be up top, ready to kill us.”

The blonde stared at him, “I know.”

“So, what’s the point of us struggling? It’ll...it won’t change anything,” Bokomon admitted weakly.

“...To live.”

Bokomon blinked.

“I want to live, Bokomon,” Jaune pronounced softly, getting harder and harder to breathe, the imp’s chest taking on weight. “Do you?”

The broached question should have been simple to answer, and indeed, he did want to live. There were still things that he wanted to see, wanted to learn, wanted to do, and by then, he wouldn’t care if he could do it all over again after every rebirth. Again and again, until his data decomposes entirely. It was far better than nothing. It would be proof. Proof that it was real. That _they_ were real. That they were alive.

“I do, but, how _can_ we get out?”

“Now.”

“Huh?”

“NOW!”

It was the signal, and not a second too soon, the ball of light phased through the mountainous pile that they were buried under and into Jaune’s grasp. A surge; no, an explosion resounded, one that cleared their surroundings, but leaving them unscathed. Bokomon managed a curious peek, one eye slitting, then opening fully to feast on what was happening.

Fire.

A veritable _ocean_ of flames, so thick that he couldn’t even see across it. His heart nearly leapt out of his chest at the thought of being immolated, but there was no pain. All he felt was the same comforting warmth. He looked down to inspect his body, expecting to at least find some singeing, angry red welts, but he was fine.

Bokomon pinched himself, flinching when he did, less alleviating to know that this wasn’t a traumatic hallucination brought about by a change in his brain chemistry. Turning to Guardromon, the big dum dum’s were still closed, but that wasn’t what made him gawk.

Any damages that the machine digimon may have sustained from the herculean task of keeping them from being crushed were gone, looking good as new.

He called for him to open his oculars, and when he did. “Wow!”

A stellar orator if he’s ever heard one. “Guardromon,” he tested if they could still perceive sound in this bizarre plane. “How do you feel?”

Guardromon blinked in confusion at first, then gauged his own condition, marveling at the flames that were harmlessly licking at his hull , “I-I’m okay?”

“Looks like it.”

“And Jaune?”

The fire encompassing them began to converge, catching them off guard, until only a single pillar remained at the center. Bokomon whirred, checking to see if the blonde was still alive, eyes becoming affixed on a figure set ablaze in blue and orange, sparks flickering like fireflies dancing jubilantly. The human was standing tall amid the phenomena, burlap clothes unmarred, hair shining like gold. The sight filled him with a thick sense of deja vu.

Jaune held up his reassembled scroll, watching the panel morph before him, thickening and compressing as to snugly fit his hand. The body was now black with red accents, resembling a very crude model of a phone, or a gamepad, with two buttons under the small screen, and an additional one by the left side.

He lifted his head, and surely enough, there it was, capturing his gaze with its own, ruminating each other, neither withdrawing from the contest of reignited wills.

The Spirit.

Bokomon and Guardromon were seeing it as well, reverently silent as it descended towards the boy, with one last flare to end the fantastical display, the pillar vanishing in a final burst of energy. When all was calm again, the only ones that remained were the three of them standing in the evidently empty cavern, the light of the sun beaming in from the enormous hole likely brought about by the explosion, with Bokomon deducing on where all of that excess load went to for them to be left with so much space.

“Is it too much to ask for one thing to go your way, Gazimon? Is it?”

A chill went up the imp’s spine at the deceptively cool inflection, head snapping to the entranceway to find Orgemon and his henchman standing side by side.

“No, sir,” the Gazimon replied mechanically.

“Mhm, mhm,” Orgemon nodded, cupping his chin in a mock display of contemplating the obvious. “So, what you’re saying is, it _wouldn’t_ be too much for me to pry the Spirit off of this pitiful human’s cold, dead hands, _after_ having my jollies of murdering the fuck out of him?”

“No, sir.” the smaller digimon replied again with a smirk.

“Hm, I see.” Orgemon stepped forward, pointing his club at them with a menacing aura to enhance his presence, voice deepening as he motioned with the same hand, “Then, let’s cut to the chase, buckos. Give it.”

Jaune, unphased by the ogre’s return as he kept half an eye on him, remained silent, keeping the device that he held near his chest.

A visible vein popped on Orgemon’s temple from the blonde’s apparent refusal, tone contrastingly calm, but no less dangerous. “You really don’t want to make things worse than they already are, kid. Just ask all of the sorry chodes that me and my men just scanned.” Guardromon paled at the words, devastated to hear confirmation of the vile deed carried out. “Oh, wait! They’re all dead, which _you’ll_ be if you don’t give me the Spirit right the fuck now.”

Bokomon, teeth chattering, expected for Jaune to do anything, _anything_ , so long as it wouldn’t exacerbate tensions. Scream, run around, beg on his knees, ask Orgemon for his social media account, but instead, what he did made his blood run colder.

Jaune’s eyes rolled, “How about, no?”

It was so casual, like there _wasn’t_ a guy just a few feet from them that would happily shove his club up their rear ends; ew, while singing a really catchy ditty doing it.

“I admit, I’m not a very patient mon,” Orgemon muttered under his breath, the narrowing crease of his permanent scowl concisely resembling his remark. “I try to be, I _absolutely_ do, but is it really my fault that when I ask nicely, and they remain _stubborn_ , that I see fit to give them more of an incentive to comply?” the bone club he wielded sizzled with electricity as he finished, causing the imp to gulp the lump that clung to his throat.

A smile worked its way into Jaune’s lips, “Ever thought of working on your sales pitch?”

“What?”

“If you guys had better optics, you _might_ , _just_ might, be able to convince me with a ginchier slogan.”

“Optics?” Orgemon’s scowl drew down. “We just massacred nearly half the people here, and you’re blabbering about freakin’ _optics_ ? Give me the damn Spirit, or so help me, I will tear you apart with these very hands that rent a Hagurumon in two like it was a damn _biscuit_.”

Guardromon fell down on his knees, the reality hitting him harder than Orgemon's previous attack. “You...monster...”

“And that’s what you get for trusting someone like me,” Orgemon boasted flagrantly without missing a beat. “A chode like you? So _eager_ to sell out your ‘friends’ that I had to be dumber than; well, _who else_ to not take full advantage of it? You get what comes to ‘ya, and no one to blame but _yourself_.”

“He did it because of you forcing his people to fight, hornhead!” Bokomon spat back, some of his courage returning from comforting the larger digimon slumped in grief, face buried in his palms as he completely gave in to the tears.

“Spare me the sanctimony, cupcake,” the ogre derided dismissively. “Have you two suddenly forgotten that _this_ is how we live? We fight, we _kill_ each other to get stronger. Those whose data get scanned in defeat? Weaklings not worth a damn! Nothing but food for the strong. Simple logic, probably the simplest there is. This war is but a symptom of that order.”

“I agree.”

Bokomon gaped at the words, of all people that he least expected to side with the ogre, it had to be Jaune.

“It would be peak naivete to expect digimon to live such peaceful lives given that they're quintessentially bred for battle. It’d hardly be the case, otherwise.” Jaune turned to Bokomon, who was dumbfounded at the teen’s inexplicable nuance, “Survival of the fittest. If you do not have the strength of mind and body to survive in this world, then of course you're going to die.”

“Well, whaddya know, the human actually gets it more than _these_ two lamebrains,” Orgemon praised the lad condescendingly. “But that still doesn't change anything. Give me the Spirit.”

Jaune's gaze trailed higher, returning the green menace's, “Can I ask you a question?”

Orgemon exchanged a glance with his subordinate, brow arching, “Those better be your last words before I blast your head off.”

Jaune smiled simperingly, shrugging, “Sure, why not? It'll be the last words that you'll ever hear from me.”

Orgemon acutely caught the teen’s particular wording ambivalently, but nonetheless inclined for him to continue.

“If I kill _you_ and scanned _your_ data, then, I really wouldn't be proving anything contrary to our mutually intertwining beliefs now, would I?”

Time seemed to freeze as soon as the words left Jaune’s mouth, the atmosphere slurring in silence, all present save for one either gaping or their jaw hanging slack in utter disbelief.

Nothing else but a snort, which soon escalated into an uproarious guffaw, would dissolve the lurid thickness.

“Merciful Yggdrasil! C-Co-Come again!?” his said between laughs, bellowing his heart out until his chest quaked with gasps. “I-I’m sorry, could you repeat that? No, seriously, I-I-I-I think my ear must have been asleep or something, but-but, I could have sworn that you were implying that you can kick my ass.”

Jaune only stared at the ogre, his expression somber and piercing, as the taller digimon gave in to another fit, while the Gazimon on his side was weirdly silent, sharply observing the scene playing out.

Orgemon wiped a stray tear from his eye, catching his breath after the workout his lungs just had, his open maw wide with mirth. “Oh man, it’s been _ages_ since I’ve had that much of a chuckle. Stress, and all. Welp,” he sniffed, then inhaled deeply as he brought his arm up, “been nice knowin’ ya.”

“Jaune!”

“Wha-?”

In a span of what seemed like an eternity, Bokomon wondered if their God was putting him up to some kind of divine test on his sense of belief.

Impossible, was a term that had no practicality in the Digital World. The rest of his words died in his throat the instant that Jaune moved, and _how_ he moved, was a spectacle that could be photographed and plastered under the dictionary definition as visual reference.

Orgemon himself was finding it hard to think of what just happened, his brain processes coming to an abrupt halt from the sharp pain that could be traced from his cheek, working its way through his jaw, courtesy of the fist that found its way to his face, attached to it being the very same human that he had mocked.

Jaune winced, the connecting of his strike rattling the bones and tendons from years of not having thrown a serious punch, having to rely on accumulating the code for it to drive the ogre back against the stairwell of the entrance, thrashing it. The Gazimon showed itself to be no slouch as he lunged for the teen, who was forced to weave and roll to add some distance between them.

“ **_Destruction Grenade!_ ** ”

As he was about to round back and pounce on the human once more, the Gazimon was blown across the floor via a missile fired from Guardromon’s arm, his tear-stained eyes burning with revenge. “I know that most of this is my fault, but that doesn’t mean that I’m just gonna take it anymore while you’re hurting more of my friends!”

The Gazimon recollected his bearings, shaking away the effects from the blow, before shooting a hateful glare at the machine digimon. “ **_Gazimon, Slide Evolution!_ ** ”

Ribbons of code spun around the canine digimon, dispelling a second later to reveal a larger, more bipedal were like creature with dark fur, wearing ripped camouflage jeans with a spiked knee-pad on the right leg and a normal one on the left, a bracer attached to an arm sleeve on his left arm, brass knuckles, and a dog tag around his neck.

“ **_Black WereGarurumon!_ ** ” the mon howled, cracking his knuckles in preparation for the beating that he was about to lay down. Bokomon gasped internally at the evolution, that a Rookie could ascend straight to Ultimate pointed to a high degree of experience on the Gazimon’s part. Looks like Orgemon had put out all the stops for this little excursion of his, leaving nothing to chance in the hunt for the Spirit.

Guardromon didn’t falter in the face of the opposition, his own glare intensifying in determination. “No more! I’m ending it right here. _Right now_!” It was his turn to be cocooned in code, much to Bokomon’s rising shock, the energies from earlier invigorating him with the power to evolve as well.

The resulting digimon once the code dissipated could best be described as half-formed, a humanoid cyborg with sinew grotesquely meshed with wiring by his right leg and left upper arm, disparities compared to the rest of his silvery hi-tech armor, clawed hands, skull-like shoulder pads, narrow waist, and a helmet that resembled a human cranium with a gap that exposed an organic lower jaw with pale skin. Eyes once an innocent blue were now a fierce red, scaling his fellow Ultimate for vulnerabilities.

“ **_Andromon_ ** is now operational,” the being that was Guardromon; now Andromon, declared, “initiating measures to eliminate imminent threat. In other words, **_it’s on! Spiral Sword!_ ** ”

His right hand spun, the speed matching that of a drill until it began to surge with energy. He swung the arm diagonally, firing the accumulated charge at his opponent, who jumped to evade and counter.

“ **_Fox Fire!_ ** ” a stream of blue flames erupted from Black WereGarurumon’s mouth.

“ **_Grasp Hang!_ ** ”

Rather than dodge, Andromon fired his arm at the airborne werewolf before the flames made it halfway, tethered by a strong cable as his hand managed to grab the beast’s snout, cutting off the attack and swinging the bastard back down with enough force to crack the rusted floor to reveal a layer of bedrock underneath.

The werewolf sucked up the pain, swatting the arm to release him, then flipped back on his feet to twist his body in a ferocious roundhouse kick, whipping out a blade of energy to hopefully bisect the cyborg.

“ **_Engetsugeri!_ ** ”

Andromon ran in, doing a leap to dodge and dove for his opponent. From there, they grappled, with Black WereGarurumon executing swift kickboxing maneuvers to overpower the other, but Andromon endured, anticipating enough to slip in a “ **_Weak Slap_ ** ” at each interval to confuse, disorient and irritate his adversary.

Back to Jaune, who had observed the battle for a spell, sidestepped from a recovered and furious Orgemon’s club, avoiding decapitation, but falling for what he regrettably found too late to be a feint, a large arm knocking him a few meters away from the edge of the newly carved mouth.

Orgemon glimpsed down, and was overjoyed at the sight of the trinket that held the Spirit on the floor, having slipped from the fool’s grasp when he slugged him.

Jaune recovered in time and held his hand out to will the device to return, stoking the ogre’s wrath from being a hair's breadth away of attaining the prize.

“ **_Haouken!_ ** ” Jaune tried to roll in a bid to circumvent the brunt of the retaliation, but was still propelled by the force, nearly slipping past the edge if not for a rock that jutted out of the floor.

“Give me the Spirit!” Orgemon roared. “I won’t ask again!”

Jaune, winded and with sweat lining his brow, simply grinned defiantly at the ogre.

Ogremon raged, his fury uncaged as he readied another swing with both hands, “THEN, DIE!”

“No, you don’t!” Bokomon, having taken advantage of the confusion, latched himself onto the green giant’s face to claw at it. “Run for it! Go!”

Jaune would have slapped the imp for such a monumentally moronic move, and was soon proven correct when Orgemon peeled the tyke off easily as if he were just removing a scab.

“You know, normally, this would be the part where I’d literally squash the life outta ‘ya,” he gave his caught prey a squeeze for emphasis on his point, regret flooding the latter from the spur of the moment action. “But, providence _demands_ that I be pragmatic.”

Orgemon stomped over to the edge, then started to make a show of dangling the imp freely by the waistband, pinched between the claws of his thumb and index finger tauntingly over the steep cliff.

“Last chance, chode. You _know_ I’ll do it,” he told Jaune in no uncertain terms. “Digimon may be tough, but a drop from this height is guaranteed to end this sucker like the bug that he is. Hand it over! Hand it over _now_ , and he _lives_!”

Jaune found the whole thing to be ridiculous, knowing full well that he’d kill them both regardless. Instead of saying it out loud, he did the only thing that he could given the circumstances.

Dusting himself as he got to his feet, he walked up to the shrewd digimon, listlessly gripping the device, almost tantalizingly so, bent on working up the latter’s aspirations for one last gambit.

Tossing it over the cliff.

Orgemon was in every position to bat it with his club to prevent such, but the risk of damaging it would no doubt tarnish his objective and render this entire endeavor meaningless.

“Wh-oof!" Jaune threw all of his weight against the green barbarian’s stomach from the momentary distraction, the teen’s mad dash shocking them both as they were about to go over. “You fool!”

Thinking quickly, Orgemon stabbed his club into the bedrock, his immense stamina allowing him to dig into the wall easily. The same couldn’t be said for the other two, peering over his shoulder to see them not being as fortunate. “ _Fine, have it your way! Fall! FALL! I don’t care if I have to pick through your splattered remains for the Spirit. At least I get to have a front row seat, haha!_ ”

Bokomon screamed, heart rate on overdrive from the adrenaline, air friction whistling past his tiny frame as he was dropping like a stone.

“ _Huh, this is how it ends,_ ” his thoughts running at the same pace as his descent, “ _I hope they have super absorbent diapers when I wake up. I have a feeling that I’m gonna be needing them._ ” With his impending death straight ahead, he surrendered himself to it, bracing for the impact.

The surprises didn’t seem to be in any hurry to end soon, however, feeling something firm wrap around his waist, a shock of blonde hair rushing past his perception. “Hang on!”

“Not really much of a choice if you haven’t noticed!”

Jaune whooped joyously in spite of the peril, eliciting the assumption from Bokomon that the boy had merely been driven mad by the events up till now. “Get ready!”

“For what!?”

The device in the lad’s hand, which he grabbed along the way of reaching the imp, lit up, vibrating with power. A ring of code then materialized around Jaune’s free hand, much to Bokomon’s astonishment, having never seen nor heard of a human that could manipulate code in a manner that a digimon could.

Unless…

Jaune aligned the device with said code, shouting at the top of his lungs, “ **_Spirit, Evolution!_ ** ”


	4. Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Under Copyright Laws, Digimon and RWBY are franchises that respectively belong to the following; Bandai and Rooster Teeth.

Bokomon stole a glance over his shoulder, gaze scaling higher until the glare of the sun that filtered under Jaune’s visage once the code around them dissolved made him wince, the shade making it difficult to discern his features.

“Hold on,” the lad assured, securing him tightly.

“What’s happening?” Bokomon asked, more confused than ever. “Shouldn’t we be falling?”

“Are we?”

Bokomon inhaled deeply, intaking the refreshing air to help calm his nerves. “This can’t be happening.”

“It is.”

“Then you...and all that code...” Bokomon swallowed, narrowing his eyes for a better glimpse, then backtracking when he did. “What...happened to you?”

“Memory still in the gutter?” Jaune, or someone who sounded like him, snorted. “You’ll get it. Now, what are you gonna do when we get back up there?”

“Running away and screaming for dear life?”

“Erm,” Jaune’s lips thinned. “How about hiding in the corner until I beat the ever loving crap out of Orgemon. Good enough?”

Bokomon blinked, before his eyes traveled down, peering to the ground below as they went farther and farther from it, but that wasn’t what made him gasp in disbelief. Jet bursts of flame that appeared to be generated from both the feet and free arm were propelling them, lifting them up rapidly, feeling the drag and friction brushing past him.

“Uh, question,” the imp started shakily, letting a chuckle escape. "How exactly are you gonna do that?”

“Like this,” Jaune answered soberly, lips peeling back to release a battle cry as he spun in the air and rounded a leg to land a powerful kick on a stunned Orgemon, who had managed to scale back up and observe their ascent.

“Blergh!” Orgemon cried out, both in pain and shock, flying back and landing in a heap near the other two combatants, still locked in a stalemate, hands linked in a push for an advantage.

The duo landed, with Jaune relinquishing Bokomon to allow his feet back on sweet, solid ground. He would have kissed it too were it not for the atmosphere, as an enraged Orgemon recovered.

“This has gotta be some kinda joke,” the green giant wondered aloud, oncing the kid over.

Red armor over a black bodysuit, red gauntlets with white bracers, boots, a wide belt around the waist, a mask with two horns and exposed mouth. Wild, fiery blonde hair pooled past his waist, resembling a demon fresh from the fires of hell.

“Agnimon...” Orgemon scrunched his features in contempt. “So, that’s what this whole deal is, huh? I should have guessed.”

Bokomon, having found a suitable hiding place at the corner behind a displaced slab of wall, observed, finding the event before him surreal.

“ _Agnimon?_ The _Agnimon?_ ”

The Legendary Warrior of Fire, the one who inherited AncientGreymon’s will after the climactic battle against Lucemon costed him and the rest of the Warrior Ten’s lives.

“ _What’s even going on anymore? Humans that can become digimon? The Legendary Spirit returning after centuries of slumber? Wh-What-Why does this-_ ” Bokomon’s head began to throb, information flooding his prior thoughts with images of places, digimon, and...children. Children that he knew, and knew quite fondly.

“ _J-Jaune?_ ” The imp looked out into the battlefield, Agnimon and Orgemon staring down one another contentiously, each of their respective energies flaring out in a weighted display of strength, of their intent.

At the same time, it was like a veil had been lifted, the wool over his eyes having been burned away by the very flames that were surrounding the red clad warrior.

“Jaune?” Bokomon repeated out loud before he knew it. The name, and the slew of sensations that it carried that he didn’t think lost, because he no longer remembered them ever being there, were returning.

Quickly, he dug into his waistband to pull out his book, opening it and flipping through the blank sections. His book, for whatever reason, always held portions that were blank and remained so no matter what he would do to fill them.

Anything written down would immediately be erased, as if there was something that kept them from being tampered in any way. But now? Now, he stopped at a page that he felt was right, and surely enough, writing, figures and _Digimoji_ characters began to form, and a crudely done image of Agnimon capped it all off.

“Th-This is...” Slipping back and forth between the book and the other two, the scales that fogged his mind’s eye cleared, memories renewing and in a flutter, a wide and excited smile upturning his lips.

“Jaune...Jaune, you’re back!”

Jaune must have heard the exclamation of joy, as he earned a glance from the lad with a grin and nod.

“Then it’s true,” Orgemon hissed in realization, loud enough to have snared Jaune’s attention. “Tell me; are you one? Are you of the original _Chosen Children_ ? If so, then how is it possible? It’s been over a thousand years, and I’m betting that you’re not as long lived as us, _human_. So how can this be?”

Jaune, now Agnimon, answered with a step forward, followed by another, marching purposefully towards the ogre until they were a foot apart. Orgemon’s brow arched high, then remembered what the kid had told him earlier, huffing out a snort.

"Heh, right then!"

With a boom of his voice, Orgemon began to take a swing at the warrior with his club, but balked when he felt a pressure seize his chest. Choking, his eyes traveled down, trailing a fist that was digging squarely there, aghast at how much force was carried over from the blow. He’d taken cannonballs without flinching, but this was almost unreal.

“ _Wata!_ ” Agnimon snapped in a high-pitched _kiai_ , delivering a kick to the winded ogre’s head. “ _Ata!_ ” he added a swift uppercut, then a roundhouse kick that batted him aside, sending him to scrape along the floor, eating the dust. Orgemon shook away the stars, shifting to lean on his elbow.

“You...” he growled, throwing a glare at his opponent, who wordlessly goaded him with a motion of his hand. “Bastard!”

Immediately upon righting himself, he pounced.

* * *

 

At Andromon’s side, he ducked under a fierce swipe from Black WereGarurumon, but this allowed for the latter’s other arm to strike upward in an arc.

“ **_Kaiser Nails!_ ** ”

Red with energy, claws slashed at the armor, but the damage was minimal from Andromon jerking back, his reaction time improved from his evolution, and evident from fluidly positioning his arm to fire a fist to counter.

The Were digimon, however, had now grown used to the other’s movements, dodging at a split second and letting the tethered projectile go past him, opening a path for another slash. He grabbed the cyborg’s arm, proceeding, but failed to account the cable retracting, Andromon’s hand making a grab for his head to drive him into a headbutt.

Black Weregarurumon recoiled from the blow, stunned, allowing Andromon to fire again, only this time, swinging the cable like he would a whip, causing it to bend and swerve, wrapping around his prey and hooking a grip at the back of the neck securely.

“Yield,” Andromon ordered flatly, his sense of mercy not shaved despite everything, but it was a mercy that was repaid by a spit from his captive.

“ **_Fox Fi-!_ ** ” Unphased, Andromon’s chest plate opened, stopping the attack dead again by revealing two missile barrels ready to fire when ready, and at such close a range. It wasn’t a matter of ‘if’, this being the last inkling that he was willing to give. “Call off the attack and leave my village. This is non-negotiable.”

The Black WereGarurumon paused, seemingly in deliberation over his options after seeing the ultimatum given, before a grin dashed away any supposed compliance, as if amused by the offer itself rather than the threat enforcing it, resolving to stay silent out of further spite.

Andromon, incensed, bit back a snarl, or any visible sign of emotion, logic dictating that this was a futile gesture from the beginning, merely acting under whatever remaining influence of his old self had on this form.

“ **_Gatling Missile!_ ** ”

Black WereGarurumon’s code was scanned by a reluctant Andromon, but quickly snuffed such misgivings out, his brain dictating that if he was to save his village, such disrelish was to be an exorbitant luxury. Glancing towards the fight that remained, the cyborg silently wished his friend luck, with the probability of them getting out of this alive dicey, but chose to let his belief get the better of the odds. With that, he made a run for the exit, readying a **_Spiral Sword_ ** at the first sign of an enemy.

* * *

 

Agnimon parried the club of a tireless Orgemon with both arms raised, flinching when the force behind it set in, knees buckling under the strain and rendering him stunned, allowing for the ogre to charge his fist.

“ **_Haouken!_ ** ”

The warrior of flame flew from the point blank attack to his stomach, the wind hammered out of him upon colliding with the wall, leaving an indent.

“If this is what suffices as a so-called ‘Legendary Warrior’ then maybe this _was_ all for nothing,” Orgemon sniffed, patting his club on his other palm. “Not that I’m complaining, mind you, but one can’t help but feel a modicum of disappointment.”

The **_Hone Konbou_ ** , his treasured weapon, fizzled, electricity forming as he made a dash towards Agnimon, who held steadfast.

Going in with another swing, he launched himself off the ground, club drawn all the way back. Agnimon caught the timing, letting the attack fall through and having it dig into the wall, a small explosion trailing after it and destroying a good chunk. Orgemon blinked, confused, then glanced to his right to see his quarry standing, looking every bit as winded from the rush.

“ _He dodged it? That fast?_ ” It was only an afterimage, but Agnimon sidestepping caught him off guard.

“ **_Crimson Knuckle!_ ** ” Taking two steps to come within range, Agnimon swung a burning haymaker, straight at Orgemon’s jaw a second time, the blow reverberating throughout the latter’s entire skull.

“Argh!” Orgemon gurgled, blood spilling from his mouth, chased by bits of his molars. Releasing his hold around his weapon, he landed once again on his side.

Agnimon stood over the fallen form, recollecting his bearings as he appraised his seemingly prone foe. A pressure on his face told him that it wasn’t so, Orgemon planting a kick that struck true, the sheer speed of which it was executed deceptive for a digimon of his bulk.

The pain was deafening, numbing, enough to knock him senseless if he hadn’t been bracing for it. It was his turn to bleed, red tracks running down his nose, working desperately to clear the blurring of his vision, but wasn’t even allowed that reprieve as Orgemon followed with a slam of his palm, driving him into the ground and leaving a small crater.

“ **_Strong Maul!_ ** ” Orgemon declared, unleashing a vicious series of slugs, jabs, stomps and hooks that he rained down on the incapacitated warrior. “You must think that I’m some kind of pushover, that I’ll just crumble like all the rest of the chodes you’ve fought in your time. Well, your era’s long done. A relic of the distant past that’s on its last legs. You should have _never_ come back!”

When he was finally done, he took a moment to appreciate a bruised and battered Agnimon, who; for the entire tirade, still endured, having brought his arms up to block, legs curled, but the damage couldn’t be ignored, judging from the coughing and hacking of blood, gauntlets cracked along with pieces of the armor dented or torn.

“In this war, relics like you should have just stayed a myth,” Orgemon hocked a loogie at the beaten warrior. “If I had known that you’d be this weak, I would have just destroyed the Spirit like the useless piece of junk that it was, and now that you’ve given me a free trial, there’s no longer any reason to keeping you around.”

He lifted a massive foot over the blonde. “How about a little experiment? Will you be reborn in Primary Village? Or, will I be left with a squashed pile of guts? Let’s find out.”

Bearing down the coup de grâce, he expected to hear and feel the pitiful vermin being crushed under his weight. Instead, Agnimon caught him, surprising both Orgemon and Bokomon, who had been watching the entire skirmish with baited breath, his morale on a tightrope at how the battle roughly played out.

Agnimon, teeth gritting and muscles aflame, poured all of his remaining strength into one last hurrah, not caring for what was to become of his own body, the desire; no, the need to reaffirm his own resolve spurring him on, unwilling to leave Bokomon and the rest to their fate.

Willing his aura to the limit, he cried out emphatically, the temperature rising as he ignited into a blazing star to burn an unprepared Orgemon, searing the flesh. A smell reached Bokomon, causing him to gag at how much it resembled rotten meat, while the green giant could only howl out in agony, forcing him to retreat and fall on his rear to nurse the appendage pathetically.

“Y-You bastard...” Orgemon hissed, tears welling. “I’ll... _kill_ you for that!”

Before he could make good on that threat, he looked up aghast at an Agnimon that was rising back to stand, hunched, breathing heavily, but his infernal aura unshakable, eyes harboring a cold rage to them that made Orgemon pause.

Never one to beg like a coward, though, he tried to charge another **_Haouken_ ** , only for Agnimon to beat him to the punch, literally, then grabbing his shoulder to lock him in place.

“ **_Gatling Burst!_ ** ” From that single punch, more ensued. “ _Atatatatatata!_ ” Fast paced, unrelenting, fist wreathed in fire, Agnimon pummeled into the ogre with a recompense of the ferocity that was dealt to him.

“ _Ata!_ ” he finished with an uppercut, and eclipsed it with a downward elbow, jabbing an eye.

Orgemon screamed, cupping the ocular with both hands, the pain multiplied from the prior assault. Agnimon watched instead of doubling down, awaiting the ogre’s next move. As much as he wanted to end it then and there, there was a sliver of him that was more curious than merciful. And, perhaps, the kind of courtesy that his father would give in his place.

“Yield...” the word tasted bitter with the coppery blood. “It’s pointless.”

How the tables had turned. Orgemon must have shared in that sentiment, his good eye boring into the other digimon, red with hate.

“What’s pointless...is that you’re a dead man either way,” Orgemon said between coughs. “Kill me, for it will matter not. Lord Titamon will see to this village’s destruction, as all who have foolishly stood in his way. When the time comes; and it _will_ , I can only relish that you’ll be thinking of me. Mark my words,” he laughed hoarsely, hacking out more blood, “ _I_ will be the very last thought you’ll have when he finally snuffs you out. You hear me? I want you to take a good long look at me, and drill it into that quaggy peabrain of yours. Haha, and I’ll be laughing, _just like this!_ ”

Then again, he wasn’t his father.

“ **_Burning Salamander!_ ** ”

Pounding his fists together, a wave of flames generated from his gauntlets engulfed his arms, morphing into the shape of a dragon as he threw one last punch, swallowing Orgemon whole, who did laugh. A cacophonous rattle that chilled Bokomon from where he was poised, watching as the beast gleefully embraced his death with pride.

Agnimon scanned the leftover code amidst the smoke and ashes, leaving the shining remnants of a _Digitama_ to soar to the sky, to where all would be given their new beginnings. He watched it blandly, before falling to his knees, exhaustion consuming him. Bokomon, seeing this, swallowed his nerves and unfurled himself from his alcove, running up to his long forgotten friend with the drive to pounce on him with a hug.

A closer take of Agnimon shot that urge in the water, and instead, settled with gently patting the warrior on the arm on a job well done once the latter became seated.

“It’s over...” the imp said, and the blonde couldn’t help but deem the words as leaning a bit on the cryptic side.

The fight, or the village?

There were still the other three left, but the absence of Andromon told them that the cyborg must have acted forthwith in the defense of his home. The chances of him handling a handful of what were, in all likelihood, Champion to Ultimate stage digimon, and well trained soldiers to boot, were arguably slim, but it could have been worse.

To be blunt, maybe this could be categorized in the realm of worse case scenarios, but; with Bokomon being a firm advocate, a little positive thinking was always welcome to the table. Less stress, after all, communicated to a longer, healthier life.

“I got my work cut out for,” Agnimon jested lamely, sucking in a breath as his arms sank like anchors, earning a snort from Bokomon, who looked a little resigned with the crooked smile that tugged at his lips.

“Hey, who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“So...how’s things?”

“Oh, you know. Now and then, here and there,” the imp gestured with a tilt of his head.

Agnimon scoffed. “Where’s Neamon?”

Bokomon inhaled. “I haven’t seen him...in a long time, Jaune.”

The lad couldn’t be sure how to feel about that, but he was anything but joyful that the lethargic digimon was nowhere to be found.

“Let’s go.”

The trip back to the surface had to have been the height of this entire debacle.

No, it wasn’t having awoken to another world and being greeted by a walking, talking tanker and a midget after almost being eviscerated by a landmine. No, it wasn’t being manhandled by a giant ogre to be used as some kind of key to unlock an ancient power. No, it wasn’t regaining his lost memories and re-harnessing said power to return the favor to the aforementioned ogre.

No. It was having to lean on the wall for support while being helped by said midget as they made their way up the stairwell, straight from one hell and jumping into another. His muscles were torture for every creak of his joints, but he managed at the meager pace, admittedly stumped as to how he was going to translate his state into fighting three more headaches, give or take.

When they were about halfway, Agnimon stopped, the throbbing of his legs signalling him that he needed to rest. He suppressed a growl, the pain that coursed through his veins sharp, but not unbearable, provided that he wasn’t to push past the already overstretched limits of his body. It was a miracle that he wasn’t crippled, mindful that he was terribly out of practice.

Taking another step, he sensed a presence from above. He peered up to see a silhouette, the afternoon sun making it difficult to catch the features if they hadn’t recognized it right away. The voice put Bokomon at ease, monotonous though it was, but preferred it over Orgemon’s loudmouth any day.

“You are injured, Agnimon,” Andromon registered, still as a statue, not bothering with Bokomon after doing a quick scan.

Agnimon stared at the cyborg. “You?”

“...All systems are running at fair efficiency,” Andromon answered as he clambered down, the calm he held serene, yet eerie, either indicating that he had succeeded, or…“It is your condition that stands as more of a priority. Come.”

“The village?” He allowed the cyborg to wrap an arm around him, his own slung over the other’s shoulder.

Andromon answered as they continued. “You only need to see to understand.”

“I just hope this was all worth it,” Agnimon grumbled.

“For a friend, it’s always worth it.” The cyborg shot him a smile, one that he was regrettably too tired to return, a knot in his stomach dreading what was awaiting them.


	5. Choices

The trio segued out of the stairwell, no worse for wear, but the air wafted with the singe of that day’s battle, filtering through Agnimon’s nostrils as he roved his sights over the pathetic scene that greeted him. The town was ruined, with buildings torn asunder, burning, smashed and crumbling. Blankly, he turned to Andromon, who mirrored him outwardly, but the mon’s eyes shone the melancholy that pined for his home, shared by Bokomon, who was more forward in weeping silently.

The survivors were huddled, keeping ample distance from a bound figure that was flanked on all sides by several new digimon that were small in stature, sporting pink fur, stubby hands and feet, and wielding proportionately sized spears. Sprouting from their backs were tattered, moth-like wings that were held together by pink stitching. Black beady eyes pelted the three with glances and stares, with the warrior of fire drawing in the most.

As for the large mound that was being secured by chains on the ground, upon closer inspection, it was an unconscious digimon that resembled a cross between a dog and a fox, with crimson red fur that dotted a sleek, wiry body, legs wrapped in multiple bands of black leather belts over stockings that were themselves held by black harnesses around the torso and hind quarters.

From the head grew an abnormally long snout, with a mouth underneath that was lined with an array of serrated teeth that looked sharp enough to tear through metal, with no doubt in the blonde’s mind that the creature made due on that conjecture with the townsfolk, and from its three paws each grew long purple claws. Agnimon could only count one, meaning that the other two were likely dealt with. Or escaped.

Andromon, whose sense of immodesty could probably be measured around the chances the locals had in repelling these ruffians, wordlessly gestured Agnimon’s attention to another new digimon that was talking to a few of the survivors, who were being attended to by a small army of pink, rabbit-like mons wearing long magenta scarves around their necks, white headphones and tiny red shoes. From their paws, a warm glow emanated that they hovered over the wounded.

The digimon that the battered warrior’s eyes landed on was tall and imposing despite only the back facing his direction, which may have stemmed from the large blade-like wings that were tucked in disuse, body clad in metal with the exceptions of the grey sleeves and grey puffed pants. Blue flaps dangled between the legs, embroidered with regal blue and gold. Tufts of blue hair flared out of what he could make out was a helmet.

Both arms, however, was what first caught the blonde's interest. The “arms” were giant scimitars that were decorated in the same blue and gold scheme, injecting the common question as to how the being even managed without hands. Maybe he could take them off? Curiosity shortly brushed aside, the cyborg nodded curtly in confirmation, trudging onward with Agnimon in tow and Bokomon trailing behind.

They stopped a few feet away from the armored mon, but rather than wait, Andromon took the initiative to attend to Agnimon’s own injuries. Carefully setting him down and languishing him up against a wall, the cyborg opened a small compartment on his right arm, revealing a black cable with a small three-pronged claw with suctions at the end of each.

“ **_Medical System._ ** ”

He fixed the claw snugly on Agnimon’s right arm. “Relax. I will administer the amount of code needed to repair the damages that you sustained,” Andromon assured, with no more said between the pair from the procedure initiating.

Agnimon allowed himself to be severed from the world around him, left to his own thoughts as to why he had been displaced to return here. He wished that it was as simple as pinning it on the war, but from experience came a lesson learned that nothing was ever as it seemed.

He took a deep breath, released it, some relief washing over him from Andromon’s ministrations. Not five minutes in, he heard heavy footsteps penetrating the barrier, pulling him away from his musings to look up at the armored digimon approach.

A good glimpse of the face revealed that the newcomer was a human digimon. Well, as human as a digimon could get. The silver helmet that he wore had a black visor in the shape of double ended arrows, with a dagger jutting out of the forehead. The helmet gave way to a human jaw in the same vein as his and Andromon’s, with a much better survey of the waist beneath the breastplate, wrapped in a row of black leather belts. Was it some weird cultural trend for digimon to have belts on them? It was only too prevalent to not notice.

Agnimon had met and fought with a lot of bizarre mons in his day, but the one now standing a foot away was a deft reminder that this world could pull off all kinds of surprises.

“Greetings, Agnimon. I am Captain Slash Angemon, serving under his Lordship, Apollomon of the Olympus XII," he bowed. "I am pleased and honored to finally make your acquaintance.”

Agnimon stared at him.

“Apologies,” Slash Angemon relented. “It’s plain to see that you need time in order to be in a more discussing mood. Please, may I offer one of the Cutemon to help in your recovery?”

Bokomon, who had been content to watch the exchange behind Andromon’s back, peeked out with a constrained smile, wary of the bladed warrior’s...accessories. “Uh, that would be very kind of you, Captain.”

Slash Angemon smiled, motioning for one of the pink rabbits to plop forward. On the verge of using its healing hands, Agnimon blurted out hoarsely, “Why are you here?”

Slash Angemon didn’t miss a beat at the inquiry clearly meant for him, “Par for the course, we had spies stationed here for years the instant after Titamon made his claim over this village, maintaining constant surveillance. Many of them, good men. Their recent report painted a contingent consisting of Orgemon and his men for what we initially thought to be the village’s pound of tribute. It was a bit of a stunner when there was mention of a human becoming involved, and so, we surveyed the situation carefully before making our move. ”

Agnimon hummed, “What was the holdup?”

“Had we acted recklessly, Titamon would have sent a detachment to secure the Terminal of Flame, or ensure that it wouldn’t fall into enemy hands. When Orgemon and his men started the culling, it was as good an excuse as any to intervene. The success of this operation can be accredited to you _and_ Andromon. For that, we owe you a debt of gratitude for your service.”

Agnimon didn’t have the energy to be outraged over that, or pretend to, choosing to discard the topic. “You have business with me?”

“Indeed,” Slash Angemon obliged. “But it can wait, for there is still much to be done after this abrupt upheaval.”

“Will the villagers be cared for?”

Slash Angemon stood taller. “Supply caravans and additional medical teams are already en route, and that this village is now _officially_ under Lord Apollomon’s gracious protection. Far be it for us to put them through more undeserved cruelty.”

A notion that could change, to Agnimon’s consternation. “Fine.”

Slash Angemon bowed once more. “More will be brought to light soon, I promise you. Until then.” He signaled for the Cutemon to act with a nod before turning to leave. From there, the petit digimon dutifully laid its hands on Agnimon.

“Just take it easy,” Cutemon directed soothingly. “Normally, we can’t rush this, but with me and Andromon together, you’ll be back on your feet in no time.” Agnimon grunted, unable to protest, but from the pain gradually leaving him along with his wounds closing, he didn’t have much room to contest.

“Who’s Apollomon?”

The Cutemon looked up from its task, blinking in brief confusion at the question before beaming with excitement and pride. “Lord Apollomon? Only the strongest, bravest digimon there is! He protects us. He saves the weak and punishes those who hurt us. Nobody pushes us around with him as our leader.”

The pink digimon’s eyes then lit up after sizing its patient more thoroughly. “And, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you kinda look like him. Only, he’s a lot taller.”

Agnimon remained stone faced, but the Cutemon didn’t seem to mind or notice.

“You don’t say?”

“Yeah! And he’s super cool to boot. All of us look up to him, want to _be_ him! Someday, I’m gonna be strong enough to fight on the front lines. Until then, I have to amp up my training,” the Cutemon pronounced with the same gleam in its eye, practically stars, until it realized that it had stopped in its treatment, snappily resuming in alarm. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Agnimon whispered, tired. And hungry, a loud rumbling sound suddenly broadcasted for all nearby to hear. Bokomon and Cutemon snickered, and even earning a coy grin from the stoic Andromon.

The warrior of fire glowered, flushed cheeks visible amidst the face paint and red he was decked in.

“Got ‘ya covered, Jaune,” Bokomon said, plunging a hand into his waistband to pull out a compact flip phone.

Agnimon’s eyes bulged. “You had a phone on you the whole time!?”

“Yeah, why?” Bokomon wondered aloud distractedly while he was dialing. “Can’t have deliveries without one. You should know that.”

Agnimon’s eye twitched, opened his mouth, closed it, and released a _long_ sigh. “Never mind.”

After being healed, Agnimon devolved back to Jaune, who rode on the code that Andromon administered to him until their food arrived, the severe lack of sustenance now catching up to him after what had to be days without eat and drink. Well, if he could count the hosing he got from Bokomon as refreshment.

Their order was delivered by a Burgamon on a scooter, and with the landmines having been removed by Slash Angemon’s specially trained unit of Drimogemon, and the sentries destroyed or decommissioned, the food digimon no longer worried about being frisked at the usual checkpoint. The lad was initially confused at how a Burgamon managed to cover what had to be over thousands upon thousands of miles from the moon to make the trip, until Bokomon clarified.

“You don’t honestly believe that the Burgamons didn’t branch out after the Great Reformatting, did ‘ya? They’re basically the largest fast food franchise in the entire Digital World and universe put together.” The imp laughed, hoisting up heaps of bags containing burgers, fries and soda that were meant for Jaune. And, a few reserved for him and Andromon.

The blonde wanted to argue that it was too much, that Bokomon didn’t have to go to such a degree to feed him, bristled by the finances that such a purchase must have costed. “You know, it’s funny. Turns out, I have a membership that guarantees me a 90% discount on all of my orders. And the best part is, it’s indefinite even after I get scanned. Threw me for a loop the first time I heard it after giving my name, and maybe it was the same for my past lives. Makes one wonder, doesn’t it?”

Jaune caught the hint. Seems like the Burgamon hadn’t been quick to forget the good they did in evacuating them and their family from Lucemon’s rampage. With that out of the way, he turned to the rows of bags, stamped with the logo of a moon that was parted for a patty in-between and circled by yellow rings.

He couldn’t help a trickle of drool from spilling out of the side of his lips, his hunger inflamed by the thought of chowing down on the first morsel of food since his arrival. Abandoning decorum, he ripped through the first one he grabbed, tearing open the box to reveal a pristine sandwich resting within.

The juicy patty, the creamy cheese, the succulent tomatoes, the crisp lettuce, the sour condiments and pickles, all of which compacted between a sesame bun that was toasted just right. Each ingredients in mouth watering succession made his fingers tremble in anticipation, his ravenous appetite momentarily overriding his reason.

He was hungrier than he thought once his teeth sunk in, ravaging through the meal like a ravenous animal, to Bokomon and Andromon’s mortification. Jaune’s mouth and cheeks became caked with sauce and chunks, but showed that he cared little from reaching at another box, the failure in etiquette not even crossing his mind as he stuffed his mouth with fries next.

The taste didn’t disappoint, either. It was like being back on the moon and treated to the Burgamons’ fantastic cooking all over again, swearing by Remnant’s gods that what he was feasting on was nothing short of ambrosia. If he ever found a way back home, he wasn’t sure if he could ever look at his usual fare of fast food the same way.

Mouth engorged after downing the second, he reached for yet another, and repeated the process until his eighth course, whereupon something made him halt in the campaign of consumption.

Jaune rolled a chewed bite around his mouth, letting his taste buds acclimate to the sandwich that he shortly parted to discover that it was comprised of simpler condiments. Chopped onions, sauce, and lettuce.

“This is…” Jaune started.

“I thought you’d recognize it. ‘S why I made sure to include a few,” Bokomon remarked from his spot where he and Andromon were facing _away_ from the teen to spare their own appetites, the three holing out in one of the tents set up to shelter the survivors.

Jaune went quiet, sat affixed on the half-eaten patty that was dashed with the mix of onions and sauce.

“Ren...”

“Yeah...” Bokomon said after downing a bite out of his own burger. “That happens to be their bestseller. Simple, affordable, and most importantly, delicious. Ren would...Ren would be proud...if he was here. Him and Nora. Sun, Cardin. God, I miss them already.”

The blonde’s eyes were glued to the sandwich, the memory of how it was first made taking him back to the most fun he had with kids his age when they weren’t fighting for their lives. It was just one out of a number of moments in their fabled journey that was undeniably precious. He took another bite, electing to savor it, enabling more details of the past to fill a bit of the void as opposed to his stomach.

“So, how are they?”

Jaune didn’t flinch in his reply, “Haven’t seen them in years.”

“Thought you’d say that.”

Jaune gulped, producing a stack of napkins to wipe at his mouth. “Guess that makes two of us. _Just_ the two of us.”

Andromon chimed in, a burger held to his mouth, “From your interactions to the shift in body language, you two have history. Am I but an outside perspective?”

“You stuck your circuits out for us, Andromon,” Bokomon reminded him. “You think we aren’t going to be tight over that?”

“Inconsequential,” Andromon dismissed. “Orgemon would not have had the edge earlier on had I not-”

“Andromon,” Bokomon interrupted, “no use beating yourself up over it. You were doing what you thought you needed to do. None of us here reserve the right to judge you for that, but you proved yourself in the end. Me and Jaune wouldn’t be here without you.”

“No, I was not entirely upfront with my intentions,” the cyborg went on. “Orgemon not only promised that he was to stop with the conscription, but to appoint me as a soldier serving under Titamon. In their stead, I was prepared to sacrifice my own life for the sake of my brethren.”

“How?” Bokomon prodded, taken aback by the lengths Guardromon was willing to undertake.

“Orgemon revealed to me on the day that we parlayed...” Andromon glanced to the flap of their tent, flaring his sensors out for any eavesdroppers, then lowered the tenor of his audio. “Titamon had recently acquired a method to force his soldiers to digivolve. And not simply to Champion or Ultimate, but to Mega. _Without_ the necessary amount of code that it would normally facilitate to reach.”

“No way,” Bokomon gasped, slapping both hands to his mouth at the outburst. “Really?” he whispered, with Jaune lurching closer to better hear.

Andromon nodded. “To compensate for the losses that I offered, the procedure would have had me digivolve to my most powerful Mega form.”

Bokomon swallowed. “Either Hi Andromon or...”

“Mugendramon,” Andromon finished.

“That’s insane,” Bokomon remarked, riled from hearing such a blasphemous claim. “No, that’s beyond whatever madness Titamon has ever dared to commit. Forcing digimon to evolve to Mega? That’s...that’s never been done. Has it?”

“It is likely in the experimental phase, and that I was to be used as a guinea pig. Even as a Guardromon, I knew that there would be a risk of failure, but my options were limited. Deep down, no matter what I did, I realized that Titamon would see to it that he would bleed us dry. Of our livelihood, and our lives. Before I came to my senses, it was already too late.”

“But it wasn’t,” Bokomon argued. “With the Spirit of Fire, both of you found the strength to evolve and fight back.”

“Casualties were unavoidable,” Andromon added flatly, ignoring Bokomon’s point. “As wishful of it for me to have had the count lessened, what we were left with is the best scenario that I could have ever calculated.”

Jaune and Bokomon exchanged glances.

The blonde let out a short breath. “Let’s just finish eating.”

When night came, the village would normally be brightly lit from the fires of the chimneys, in stark contrast to the campfires, lamps and floodlights that currently served as adequate substitutes, the morose atmosphere having subsided to be replaced by a despondent calm. The surviving villagers that weren’t still in critical condition rested. Others loitered amongst the ruins, sporting devices that were designed to siphon raw code from the air to help rejuvenate them, a few lamenting their fate in their own way.

Jaune, Bokomon and Andromon had been resting the day's troubles away in their tent, but were now bestowed with the esteemed privilege of serving as hosts to Slash Angemon, who was content to conduct their awaited meeting in private. Two of the same winged creatures were stationed outside, ordered to restrict entry and watch for any unwanted stragglers.

Slash Angemon drank in the contents of the tent with the forbearance of a seasoned officer, but he could be forgiven to have had his expectations; that ranged from the absurd to the mundane, meandered. Where he stood opposite from between a fidgeting Bokomon and an ever stoic Andromon, sat a creature that was neither extraordinary nor unexceptional.

Average.

That was what the blonde appraising him in turn gave off, disregarding the burlap rags that he was wearing, the ‘true form’ of the Legendary Warrior was far from the dignified image that he visualized.

The youth was ragged and dirty like a beggar, unabashedly scratching at himself in his presence without an ounce of seemliness. It was only when they locked eyes that he observed a worldliness behind them that piddled to his own, but could rival that of his veteran soldiers.

“A human,” Slash Angemon said in fascination. “I’ve associated with a trove of human digimon in this lifetime, but you...” he huffed through a toothy grimace. “Well, it’s remarkable, quite frankly.”

Jaune just stared at him in the same stone-faced manner when they first met, mouth set.

“Right. To business, then.” Slash Angemon cleared his throat. “I stand before you now, Warrior of Flame, as a delegate to my Lord Apollomon, with an offer.”

There was a long pause. _Very_ long.

“Are you not going to ask? Not the least bit curious?” Slash Angemon prodded.

Jaune yawned. “Not interested.”

“But you haven’t even heard-”

“You want to recruit me,” Jaune guessed, intoning his displeasure. “Don’t beat around the bush, because I’ve frankly had my fill of crap for today.”

 _And burgers. Lots and lots of burgers_ , Bokomon thought to himself.

“And why not?” Slash Angemon lobbied pleasantly. “The Legendary Warrior, Agnimon of Flame, serving under the banner of his majesty will no doubt resonate with his subjects. More than ever, we need the strength of those willing to fight for the liberation of those still in Titamon's thrall, and to win this war once and for all.”

“I did what I did for my own reasons and mine alone,” Jaune grumbled. “The last thing I definitely need right now is some hotshot pulling at my ear to get shit done for him.”

Well, there was the glaring exception of his mother, but hey, he wasn't complaining.

Bokomon may have gotten an inkling as to why Jaune reacted the way he did to his phone, as his own eyes bulged at the blonde’s rebuttal. The imp frantically swallowed a lump the size of Examon down his throat, an errant hand rubbing at his neck from the shine reflected off the edges of the Captain’s swords under the incandescent bulb draped above.

Conversely to Slash Angemon, who neatly shrugged at the ill will lobbed by the boy. “Hear me out...”

“Jaune.”

“Jaune,” Slash Angemon tested the name. “Is there a ‘mon’ to go with that?”

The blonde’s lips pursed. “Human names aren’t as clear cut as a digimon’s.”

“I’m well aware, thank you,” Slash Angemon chuckled. “Jaune, I am being nothing but transparent. My intentions are pure, and whatever my Lord may have in store for you, rest assured, I am on your side.”

“Ophanimon?”

Bokomon’s jaw dropped at the utterance of the name, jogging him down memory lane to when they first met the Archangel Digimon in person.

“Very perceptive of you,” Slash Angemon grinned. “What gave it away?”

“Call it a hunch.”

“Hm,” Slash Angemon considered that for a smidgen, continuing. “Yes. I serve my Lord Apollomon faithfully with what is fully expected of my honor, but, I have my own personal loyalties outside my obligations to his Kingdom. Lady Ophanimon sends her blessings and good tidings to you Jaune Arc, and to you, Bokomon. She bids you a welcome return.”

This only made Jaune’s distaste worse. “Why was I called back?”

“Called?” Slash Angemon parroted cryptically. “Whatever do you mean? Are you certain that you didn’t return of your own volition? Yes? Or no?”

Jaune’s eyes narrowed accusingly. “You...”

“I admit, I had a bit of fun with that on my Lady’s behalf,” Slash Angemon said mirthfully, coughing. “But the call for your aid isn’t for naught, Jaune. Lady Ophanimon fears that the Digital World is once again in crisis, and is in need of its champions.”

Jaune didn’t move for longer than a span of a minute, expression vacant. Both of his hands rose to his face, pressing firmly, taking deep breaths for another stretch, before dragging them down slowly to fall on the floor.

“Fuck.”

“A rather apt idiom, if I do say so,” Slash Angemon conceded. “Your reluctance is palpable, but-”

“But nothing!” Jaune snapped, spreading his arms out. “Which is it? Apollomon? Ophanimon? What is this, am I being prepped to become some kind of deep cover spy? A double agent?”

“A lot can change in one's absence," Slash Angemon explained for his benefit, "with the Digital World becoming more...cosmopolitan. Great cities, kingdoms, governments, progress. You must know where I’m coming from?”

More than he cared to relate, the blonde’s hard silence telling. “I thought Seraphimon, Ophanimon and Cherubimon were the ruling powers,” Jaune reminded him pointedly.

“The Three Great Angels may have re-established themselves as overseers, but their authority ends where sovereign nations have established their independence in the centuries building up to your reappearance.”

“Politics?” groaned.

“Regrettably,” the holy digimon agreed. “The defeat of Lucemon brought about the advent of the Great Reformatting, and with it, a new beginning for the world and its inhabitants. A golden opportunity to start over from scratch with the hope of not repeating the mistakes of the past,” Slash Angemon elaborated.

“Wishful thinking. Digimon are creatures of habit, and that is precisely why conflict will always be an intrinsic part of life for us as a species. Those who choose to live a more pacifistic lifestyle grow and evolve naturally on their own from the raw code in the air, but the same can't be said for those that are...impatient. The other great powers have come to stoke those ambitions and grant them focus."

"Like Apollomon?" Jaune challenged.

"Lord Apollomon has his own reasons for fighting the war apart from his fellow Olympians, but they're far better than what Titamon has in mind if he ever comes out on top."

"Right," Jaune muttered skeptically.

"I was appointed by my Lord with the task of convincing you to swear fealty to him, and if that failed, broker an alliance. _With_ terms," Slash Angemon added snugly.

" _Un_ officially, I am here to bring you up to speed on events that will and have already bred grave repercussions if this war is allowed to continue any further. Yes, digimon fight one another for a varying number of reasons, often with the intent to gain in strength, but this tumultuous age only multiplies that equation _exponentially_ , sequentially disrupting the balance between life and death. Primary Village, if it craves saying, is in need of constant developments just to accommodate the massive influx of newborns, while the Dark Area’s influence grows ever more robust.”

“The Dark Area?”

“Only the most evil digimon are judged by Anubismon to be deserving eternal torment in that vile place.”

“That was Lucemon’s prison.”

“Not a prison, per se, but an afterlife. If you can call it that,” Slash Angemon winced. “With every rebirth, there are digicores that are bound to become corrupted.”

“Digicores?”

“Our souls,” Andromon answered simply. “If I am not mistaken, you also are in possession of a digicore.”

“I’m not a digimon,” Jaune refuted, half wondering why they had been skimped on such details. “I turn into one, but-”

“You don’t merely ‘turn into’ one,” Slash Angemon corrected. “The D-Scanner configures your code to your designated Spirit, essentially _becoming_ that digimon. The full package.”

Code, DNA, Jaune wasn’t big on biology, but he could wager that it wasn’t that simple. “D-Scanner?”

“Were you not told the proper name of what serves as the vessels for your Spirits?” Slash Angemon asked, observing as Jaune brought out his digivice. “That which allows you to digivolve?”

Jaune threw him a look. “No. As a matter of fact, I, and the rest of my constituents, _weren’t_ told of what this thing’s proper name was. We just called it a _digivice_ and that was it.”

“Oh,” Slash Angemon realized. “There were some...rather faulty logistics at work there. The first ones you had were generally prototypes, incomplete models.”

“Incomplete models?”

“The original plans, and the intended improvements to it were to include a complete holographic catalogue of all Digimon, with fully functioning GPS to better navigate and interact with the Digital World at large, a radar to detect any hostiles in a nearby proximity. Nothing less for children of your age.

“Unfortunately, time to fully realize the design was curtailed, and we were left with little choice but to rush the deadline. Cherubimon going mad and plunging the world into chaos greatly inconvenienced us, you see. On the plus side, we were able to slap in the wireless communication at the last minute, so, you weren’t totally without utility.”

There was a heavy lifelessness in Jaune’s eyes. “Gee, thanks.”

“That which you’re holding is, presently, the complete version,” Slash Angemon went on, ignoring the boy’s unvoiced chagrin. “Go ahead. Press any button. Have a go.”

Jaune gave the D-Scanner a squeeze, his fingers stroking its all too familiar contours, a trickle of uncertainty cropping in as he flipped it over to ascertain if this was very much real. He pressed the first button to the left, and was immediately greeted by a holographic plate that was blank. He pressed it again, dispelling the plate and no more impressed than he was as a kid.

“Point it to me,” Slash Angemon instructed.

Jaune did so, and tried again. The plate reappeared, only this time, an image of Slash Angemon was presented, along with information in both _Vytalese_ and _Digimoji_.

_Name: Slash Angemon_

_Type: Power_

_Class: Mega_

_Attribute: Vaccine_

_Profile: A mega level that commands authority over holy digimon versed in combat, it is a warrior harboring an ironclad belief in justice that rends the wicked with merciless fervor._

_Special Moves:_

_Heaven’s Ripper_

_Holy Espada_

Jaune tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Well?”

“Okay, I gotta admit, that’s,” Jaune coughed, “that’s pretty useful.” And would have made their last journey a _ton_ easier.

“Now, the GPS.”

Jaune pressed the right button, revealing another holographic plate that displayed a map. There was a blinking arrow in the middle that indicated his location, with Slash Angemon telling him to run his finger over it to toggle. He stopped when he landed on a larger arrow that pointed down at a place labeled in _Digimoji_.

“Looks like you’ll be needing to brush up on your Digimoji, Jaune,” Bokomon suggested, huddled next to the blonde in admiring the D-Scanner’s new additions.

“Yeah,” Jaune said absently. “Wait, hang on. I haven’t even agreed to anything.”

“Sorry.”

“You think you have a choice?” Slash Angemon asked.

“I sure didn’t have one the first time I was here,” Jaune spat.

“Oh?” Slash Angemon ventured. “From what Lady Ophanimon recounted, you were quite enthused by the excursion from the beginning. Ecstatic, even.”

“That was before I came to accept that we were basically child soldiers fighting _her_ war,” Jaune miffed bitterly. “Why were we chosen? Was it...really just at random?”

The lad chewed his lips. “I got so sick of arguing about it with Cardin, but I kept on pushing for us to fight because I convinced myself that it was the only way to get home. Sun saw through it, but he stuck with me to the end because, what else was there? We die, Lucemon wins. We live, we might go back. But...would we have been the same? Would we have still been kids after everything we went through?”

“Hence, why Lady Ophanimon thought it best to include a failsafe program into each of your old D-Scanners to wipe your memories in the event that you completed the task that was bestowed.”

Jaune arched his neck to lock eyes with the armored digimon’s visor. “Small favors,” he snarled. “I still ended up back here, and for what? To fight in _another_ war?”

“Not just this war,” Slash Angemon muttered softly. “But for the fate of both worlds.”

“Oh, here we go,” Jaune sprang to his feet. “No! No, you-” he ran a hand over his hair, scratching at the tresses, jaw tightening. “You can _not_ be telling me that the Digital World is going to invade Remnant. We’re already up to our necks with the Grimm, how do you think a colossal dragon with a gun for a hand will spell out over there? Not that I have the clairvoyance to actually know that a mon like that exists, mind you, but I think I’m _more_ than entitled enough to be making all sorts of wild guesses after all of the bullshit I had to deal with as a _freaking ten year old!_ ”

“Actually, there-”

“ _I was being rhetorical!_ ” Jaune shrieked, utterly at his wits end.

“To my understanding, your people consists of warriors that push back against these ‘Grimm’, leaving those that can’t fight holed up in the safety of walled cities,” Slash Angemon provided. “Huntsman, you call them?”

“Yeah, but we aren’t-” the rest of Jaune’s rant sunk to his belly, replaced by ice that frosted over his veins as Slash Angemon went on.

“Now, now, it shouldn't be such a shocker. Don't give me that look. Yes, Jaune Arc. We are not so ignorant to the affairs of your homeworld. How do you think Lady Ophanimon drew you and your friends here in the first place? The dimensional barriers that have separated our respective worlds have weakened overtime, and are weakening still even as we speak.

“We have not pinned down a definite cause, whether natural or intentional through the machinations of a third party, although our latest investigations into this anomaly has gathered evidence leaning towards the latter. Which, coincides with the _other_ matter that will be born out of such circumstances.

“Remnant would, perhaps, be able to repel a disorganized invasion composed of random blips here and there, give or take a few that can stir some real carnage. Try to imagine a full scale orchestrated assault. By our estimate, your planet's stretched resources would be set ablaze to unrecoverable levels within a year, if not months. I’ve seen how your so-called ‘huntsmen’ fight, and let me put this as lightly as I possibly can. The only way for me to have been remotely impressed was if I was high as a kite and emulating their movements in nothing but my knickers. That’s not even going into the absolute chaos that would erupt from the Dark Area alone.”

“What _about_ the Dark Area?” Jaune egged, hands hooked around his hips.

“The Dark Area, as I stated, not only serves as a prison, but as an afterlife,” Slash Angemon resumed. “The digimon that are judged accordingly for their misdeeds are sentenced into that foreboding plane, where they would be deprived of their physical bodies, their corrupted code literal shadows of their former selves. If they were to somehow escape, either here or to Remnant, they will be made whole, _realized_ into their corporeal forms. There are several thousand good reasons to why they were confined there, _half_ of which applied to Lucemon alone.

“Lord Cherubimon has foreseen that if the Dark Area overloads over the brink; which it will and soon, one way or another, Yggdrasil itself will have no choice but to dump the excess to where we both know will be Remnant. That, or for a more _final_ solution to _all_ our problems.”

“And that would be?”

“Extinction,” Slash Angemon said bluntly. “Yggdrasil will have absolutely no reservations with unleashing Program X to reformat not only this world, but yours. By then, the barriers will be of little consequence, and Remnant will be caught in its influence. Won’t that just be bliss?”

The ensuing quiet, now that the majority were asleep in the hours that they’d spent in their talk, held a slurry thickness of silt. Jaune held onto that quiet for what felt longer, as if fighting for what next to say.

“What can _I_ do?”

Those present could have mistook the wind to have blown in those words right past the guards, through the flaps and brisking past their ears, and Jaune would have had the enormous weight pinning him down lifted.

“The Digital World is once again in need of its champions,” Slash Angemon reiterated. “If you won’t fight for us, will it be for you and yours?”

Jaune wanted to cry, scream, pull at his hair, stomp the ground in a mad dance and just run himself through the other’s swords, the light it gave off flashing over his lifeless eyes proving ever so tantalizing, to just get it over with and end his suffering.

He inhaled, deep, and let out the longest, loudest exhale, head buckling in surrender. His answer, one that he already regretted with every fiber of his being, was conveyed.


	6. Unreal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Copyright belongs to their respective creators.
> 
> Update: Revised on 12/20/18

Jaune’s stomach boiled, a myriad of questions bubbling forth to the rim of his lips, skin breaking into a cold sweat despite the effort to weather his nerves.

“This Program X...” he swallowed some bile, anxiety interweaving with his exhaustion. “It’s going to…what? Pull a hard reset? Sounds like what people meme about on the net. You’re kidding, right?”

A ghost of a smile zoomed past the blonde’s face, vanishing as the armored angel’s somber silence washed over him.

“Please, tell me you’re kidding.”

Slash Angemon's mouth remained set, boring into the boy through the black lens of his visor, the air becoming thick like miasma constricting his chest, the weight sinking into Jaune's skin like knives.

“So, that’s it? After everything we did, after all our hard work? After all the sacrifices we made? The shit we went through? This Yggdrasil guy’s just going to make with the magic wand and poof? Including with Remnant?”

The angel digimon was infuriatingly still and quiet.

”My world isn’t a fucking video game!” Jaune snapped, spittle flying.

“Neither is ours,” Slash Angemon vouched, finding his voice again. “Or, are you so quick to forget?” He made a vague motion with his right arm in Andromon’s direction. “In spite of the hefty resemblance, we are as much living beings as you, with our own wills, thoughts and emotions, far beyond mere constructs of data.”

“Then, what is it?” Jaune asked tersely, sinking back down.

“Program X was conceived soon after the Great Reformatting,” Slash Angemon began. “It is a measure that Yggdrasil adapted in order to curb a repeat of the threat that Lucemon, or those on his scale, posed. Be warned that this is highly classified information. I had to be run through the proper channels for the authorization to leak it to you and you alone.”

“From the Three Great Angels?”

“That, I’m afraid, I stringently cannot disclose.”

Jaune’s brow furrowed, irritated.

“I have a feeling that you’ll react quite...poorly, if I did tell on their identity.”

“Whatever,” the lad finally scoffed.

Bokomon and Andromon exchanged meaningful looks, the former quailing in fear.

“Can’t your guards overhear us from outside?” Jaune asked pointedly, taking notice of the imp being shaken.

“They know when not to listen in,” Slash Angemon retorted, “would save you two the trouble to do the same.”

Bokomon pressed a hand to his chest, his heartbeat rattling his small frame, grateful for the leniency but far from being at ease by the knowledge of the Digital World and the human world potentially getting reformatted simultaneously. Andromon sat relinquished, the emotional side of him sharing in the smaller mon’s distress. The logical side, on the other hand, filed away the information into a secure section of his memory.

“If, say, people knew about this, would it stop the war?” Jaune challenged.

Slash Angemon sighed tiredly, his mask slipping for a fraction. “I trust that you cannot presume it to be that simple”

Cutting to the chase, Jaune factored in how the entire population of Remnant would react, in spite of the Grimm.

He thought again.

And again, just to make sure.

His head fell, letting out his own sigh in defeat. Humanity at large wasn’t going to start playing nice and gather around the hearth to delay the inevitable. If the riled Grimm from the mass panic wasn’t going to finish them off first, he imagined good old human stupidity to do most of the work.

Hell, the safest bet was that it’d be brushed aside as nonsense, with the exception of a few doomsday loons. The notion that the world’s end was to be about as sudden as flipping a switch with none the wiser was already a stretch.

That said, he had his share of experience fighting unbelievably powerful godlike beings, and maybe if he spent looking, still held the scars to prove it.

The Kingdoms wouldn’t have been divided; in more ways than one, otherwise. Applying it to the digimon was a simple matter of flipping the races.

“This...Yggdrasil,” Jaune started. “Who is he?”

“ _It_ ,” Slash Angemon corrected. “Yggdrasil is not a digimon, nor of flesh and blood.”

“Then, what is it?” Jaune asked.

There was a shift in Slash Angemon’s demeanor, standing taller with his head held high as if in reverence.

“...Our God.”

“God?” Jaune repeated oddly after a solid minute of ruminating on the implication. “As in, _the_ God, the one that created everything God, or is it the thunder and lightning shooting out of their hands kind of God? Am I painting enough of a vivid picture?”

“I am going to pretend that I didn’t just receive a hefty earful of blasphemy,” Slash Angemon muttered. “After a fashion, Yggdrasil is the intelligence behind the Digital World that serves as the lynchpin. You humans generously refer to such as the host computer, if I aim to be frank.”

“What was that you said about blasphemy?”

Slash Angemon cleared his throat, although it sounded suspiciously like a grunt.

Jaune glowered. “Okay, if your so-called God is so powerful to do that, then why doesn’t it just fix this world instead? Or, better yet; why in the hell didn’t it take care of that asshole Lucemon in the first place?”

Slash Angemon coughed. “Yggdrasil works in ways that even we of the holiest cannot comprehend.” Jaune eyed him skeptically, but didn’t dwell on what was easily construed as a copout. “Lady Ophanimon pleaded, begged for this world’s salvation in those dark days. The last thing she wanted was to put anyone, let alone children, through such adversity. Alas, her pleas fell on deaf ears. Had we known the gravity of Lucemon’s influence, it could have been different. Not by a lot, but after Lord Cherubimon went mad, slaughtered us and abducted her, the rest fell into place.”

“...In other words, Yggdrasil doesn’t do jack?”

Slash Angemon blatantly grunted at that, much louder than the first.

Jaune refrained from additional blaspheming while he was ahead. “Then, why us?”

It was loaded than before, and Slash Angemon caught on it, but seemed keen to deflect. “You should know this. Lady Ophanimon, with what little power she mustered in her imprisonment, broadcasted a signal to-”

“Tell me the truth,” Jaune interrupted.

Slash Angemon’s head tilted. “The truth?”

“Why us?” the blonde persisted. “You could have picked anyone.”

“Indeed,” Slash Angemon admitted. “You believe there to be a deeper meaning behind it?”

Jaune felt the angel’s brow aimed at him. “I…”

“Would it put you at ease if it did?” Slash Angemon followed. “Is that what you want? If I refuse to tell you what may or may not be there, will it change anything?”

“…”

Slash Angemon seemed to mull for one swift moment at the boy’s silence. “In my years of service, and by my faith, I once believed that nothing in this world was by chance, that there must be a destiny reserved for each of us, but that was so long ago when I was still an Angemon, and we’re veering slightly off.

“We could have ended up with anyone unscrupulous that would have strayed from the righteous path and fallen into the darkness. So, how is it that you five managed to avoid corruption and complete your mission?”

Jaune mouth filled with cotton, lacking a clear answer.

“You were children vulnerable to a slew of temptations – betrayal and abandonment out of fear, anger, hunger, homesickness. Can you or any of your lot proclaim to have never succumbed to that pit?”

The lad reached for a retort, that it was their friendship that held them together through thick and thin. That even now, there was a pit in his stomach that held a longing to meet up and reconnect with them.

Then, a rivulet of certain memories seeped from a recess of his subconscious.

“ _You’re gonna get us all killed. I_ hate _this, and I hate_ you _for getting us into this mess. I’m better off on my own._ ”

“ _Until...mom and dad took me in, you don’t know what it was like for me, Jaune, to be alone, to not have a warm home, hardly anything to eat. I wasn’t like Sun. And then, when I finally had everything I ever wanted, Ren and I end up here.  And now...now...we might never see them again._ ”

“ _Nora’s been acting...distant, lately. Not to me, much. But, I can tell._ ”

“ _...It can only get worse from here._ ”

Slash Angemon seemed to read into Jaune’s meditation, coughing loud enough to arrest the three’s attention, snapping the lad out of his trance.

“Well, now that we’ve hashed out the details, it’s late, and I have other places that I need to be – duty and whatnot.”

Slash Angemon whirled on his heel, parting the flap halfway before stopping to spare them one last glance over his shoulder.

“Oh, and do think about my offer,” that Slash Angemon needn’t repeat for the blonde’s benefit. “If you wish to be on your own for the time being, all fine and good, be my guest. But, do realize that there won’t be a shortage of others vying for your patronage. On that end, I do sincerely hope that we meet in less...hectic circumstances when the opportunity presents itself.”

Jaune postulated that there was further that needed to be said, but from the tone of the angel’s voice, and the odd inflection he warily caught around the ‘duty’ part, it was better to let it be.

Once outside, Slash Angemon ordered his guards to cover the west border of the town. They did as ordered, leaving him to take flight. Once he reached a height where he was camouflaged, a blank, holographic screen came to life beside his face, remotely typing his message.

“ _I’ll take it from here_.”

“ ** _Okay._** ”

“ _The usual amount has been wired into your encrypted account_ ,” he assured as he was patched to the main line.

_“The operation was a success.”_

_“ **Agnimon?** ”_

_“He needs time.”_

_“ **Lord Apollomon will take that as a no.** ”_

_“People can change their minds.”_

_“ **What of the prisoner?** ”_

_“Packaged and ready for transport in the morn.”_

_“ **Affirmative. Report back to base.** ”_

_“Roger.”_

A simple tactic, and fragile to maintain, with definitely those who suspected, but either couldn’t prove his duplicity, or chose to leave him dig his own hole. Least of all, Apollomon, who he had good reason to assume knew, but didn’t care from how free he was still able to go about. For how long, was the question.

_Elsewhere…_

The Gazimon scrounged through the dirt, rending one of his claws from grazing against a deposit. Pain didn’t register, the adrenaline rush of his trek through miles under rocky desert testing his injured and spent body for the remainder of his journey to one of their outposts.

His comm had been lost in the crossfire, and he needed to radio in an urgent report that the mission went sideways the moment Orgemon and Unit 76 returned to the cavern. Not half an hour in scanning more of the Guardromon, who actually put up enough of a fight than he expected, a flash blitzed past his line of sight, and next he knew, Unit 35 was scanned.

It took him a fraction of a second to realize that a new player had entered the fray. He rounded on whoever it was, ready to strike as a Cerberumon, an Ultimate bent on incinerating the schmoe that thought they could pull a fast one.

And how fast, it was.

Before he knew it, he was forcefully devolved to Rookie, nursing a sleek cut on his shoulder. It wasn’t deep, owing to his quick reflexes. It shouldn’t have been possible; the regenerative properties of his armor guaranteeing that nothing short of an exceptionally powerful or holy attack could land so much as a scratch on him. Then he glimpsed up and profiled the assailant.

“ _Oh._ ”

Slash Angemon.

Slash “losing your bowels on sight” Angemon, the sheen off the blade in his direction causing a small puddle to form under his haunches. He’d have been done for had Unit 28 not idiotically engaged the Mega, providing sufficient distraction.

One of Apollomon’s big guns dropping in on their fun so unexpectedly did not go past simple deduction, pointing to a mutual pursuit of the Spirit. Claiming the town was merely icing on the cake, which was bad, but compared to breaking in the report to Titamon, he might as well take the necessary steps to deleting his own code. If he could desert, he’d hightail it out to the other side of the Digital World.

The spies spread out that hunted down deserters on the side made him uncertain. He’d evade them for long, but it was a matter of eventuality. There wouldn’t be any peace for him, and offering asylum to rogues became a touchy subject for other countries after too many catastrophes, rooted from Titamon’s insanely unethical and ruthless tactics.

The only card that he had going for him was his status as an elite soldier. If there was one thing that Titamon was known for in their ranks aside from his murderous bloodlust, it was his staunch pragmatism. Nothing went by him in terms of resources and manpower, and only the truly incompetent and weak were discarded. Those that were deemed worthy of redemption often had a brand spanking new appreciation for life; their own to be precise, and made good on their motivation to do whatever it took to stay under their lord’s good graces.

Now, if he could only stop the frantic drumming of his heart and steel his nerves, he’d sell it like a pro.

He scratched at his nose, sniffing that he was nearing the surface, the soil cool and moist to the touch - it was raining. A few inches of wriggling, he stopped at a junction that he shoved open with a claw and clambered out of the hole to drop like a log on the ground. He had emerged from a small hill, droplets of rain patting his frail body and washing some of the dirt that clung to his fur, caking into mud. He didn’t even have the energy to shake off the excess, his grip on consciousness slipping.

Perpendicular to his position stood a large cabin, opaque under a thick blanket of fog. The lights were on, and from the door exited a small figure no bigger than him, but wider and shaped like an egg. A pair of green stubby legs with red toe claws jutted out of cracks at the bottom, and in the middle was a cracked opening that gave way to the creature’s beady yellow eyes that scoped out the pup lying flat on his stomach.

The Gazimon’s perception swayed, inconvenienced further by the rain growing in intensity as he tried to get a good glimpse of the approaching mon, and was immediately seized by a sense of danger when he did. The sensation fleeted, eyelids turning into lead.

The egg-like mon tilted its form, closely examining the crumpled Rookie before it in curiosity. A shadowy limb slithered out of the crack at the front to hook around the Gazimon’s waist, lifting the pup overhead with strength unusual for its size. Trotting back, a sign nailed above the door, bore letters in _Digimoji_ that spelled “ _Digitama-go_ ” - a restaurant.

“Meh, I don’t get that many customers anyway.”

_Terminal of Flame..._

The desert night air caressed Jaune’s cheek, soothing rather than biting - well, he was shivering quite a bit - but didn’t feel the need to retreat to their tent, unable to get a wink of sleep. He was sitting curled by the border, near the spot that Bokomon and he had met, his dull eyes staring forlornly at the vast expanse of land.

His mind was slurry with thoughts of the past few days, bombarded with so much in so little time. He wondered what manner of sick grudge fate had over him, the twisted monster that he was in a past life for this karma.

He released a foggy breath as he reflected properly on the battle, contemplating the severe lack of qualm from ending a life after years of being absent for so long, even with the added insurance the digimon held of being reborn. The first he ever battled and scanned was a Cerberumon, who would have driven him and the others into an early grave in the Dark Area had he not acted.

He did not harbor the clarity to make of the situation that day, the events progressing so quickly that he was left without breath after his very first real fight. All he knew was upon digivolving, it felt like he had become someone else – someone who knew how to throw a punch, a kick, and to spin in a great fiery tornado – and at the tender age of 10, he had taken the life of another sentient being.

From thereon, many came after – so many. Most deserved it, while some, he repressed thinking about. For the sake of honesty, he was tired of fighting, the rush from Orgemon being a spur of the moment, and because the guy was a massive jackass.

_“You were children vulnerable to a slew of temptations – betrayal and abandonment out of fear, anger, hunger, homesickness. Can you or any of your lot proclaim to have never succumbed to that pit?”_

Jaune grimaced, feeling a chuckle flailing to spill from his throat. His jaw tightened, eyes snapping shut with a shake of his head.

Pouring over more of his old memories revealed a very different image of what he initially visualized as the brave and supportive leader; not perfect, but he was nowhere near the idealized front that later down the line built itself into a mask.

Deep down, he was a deluded kid with selfish aspirations juxtaposed with mild delusions of grandeur, to live out a power fantasy in a world where he gained might and strength beyond his wildest dreams, with friends that he could call his own. No longer was he a nobody, an outcast, an awkward wallflower whose social life was close to nonexistent.

At long last, he was a hero of justice.

Cruel reality did not see it his way.

He regularly clashed with Cardin, who was stubborn and abrasive, coupled with an arrogant bravado that served as his own mask. Ren and Nora prioritized each other over the team, at one point separating due to a particularly heated dispute. Sun was less difficult, but that may have been from apathy than any genuine bond they formed. For irony, despite the fountain of jokes, wisecracks and pranks that he was, the monkey faunus was arguably the most mature, next to Ren.

Besides Bokomon and Neamon as their guides, there were other digimon that would help them, but were few and far in-between from those that offered the opposite. They were intelligent creatures on par with humans, above Grimm. Some could be reasoned with, whereas others wanted to rob them, take their Spirits or code; oftentimes all three, with nary a regard for them being children.

Needless to say, they were ill prepared to trek across a new and alien world, dotted with bizarre geography composed of barren wastelands, lush forests, snowy tundra and abandoned cities, barring friendly settlements they lucked on that were kind enough to spare supplies. Food and water were finite; however, having to rely on what they had on hand to scrape and scavenge, with agonizing days without that left them starving and desperate.

So desperate that they stole, begged, fought and _killed_ to keep themselves alive. They weren’t children anymore.

Let alone, heroes.

Bokomon stood behind him, for how long, he didn’t deem to keep track, the imp too occupied by his scalp to utter a word.

“What?”

It was a weak, brittle thing.

“Can’t sleep?” the smaller digimon guessed.

Jaune gave in to a breeze that went past, shivering his response in quick breaths, whether he meant to or not.

Bokomon rubbed the back of his head. “I don’t suppose you mind making room for one more?”

Silence.

He sighed, striding forward to plop down next to the blonde, and then looked to the stars to briefly admire them, normally obscured by the town lights. How ironic that they shined in their full splendor amidst such melancholy, an unsettling knot forming in his belly.

“Well, here we are,” the imp started, “again.”

The wind spoke in the boy's stead.

He stole a glance from the lad. “You feelin’ any better?”

Jaune’s shoulders sunk, hunching into a ball.

Bokomon’s lips pursed. “I-”

“No.”

“Okay, you-”

“No.”

“But I-”

“No, no, _no_ , **_no_** ,” Jaune repeated, louder after each tally, lips peeled. “ ** _No!_** ”

“Okay, okay,” Bokomon conceded, throwing his hands forward. “I was just-”

“S-Sorry,” Jaune muttered pitifully in remorse, sinking further into himself. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, no problem,” Bokomon said in commiseration, pasting on a crooked grin. “It’s natural to be stressed, man. Look at me, a bundle of nerves ready to break out at the slightest. You just came back, so, no use jumping into action right off the bat. I mean, stopping a war _and_ preventing Armageddon? Been there, done that. You and the guys _did_ stop Lucemon, after all, and believe it or not, digimon today are raised on so many stories about our exploits. We're talking myths and legends status here. You're practically folk heroes. ”

Jaune groaned.

“Wrong thing to say?”

“Everything’s wrong,” Jaune bemoaned, visibly bereaved. “This is fucked up.”

“No arguments there,” Bokomon jibed dismally. “How the hell they expect you to do all that is insane. Not unless we let Program X just do its thing and call it a millennia or so. We had a pretty good run, right?”

“Please, don’t,” Jaune groused, palming his face.

“Cutting it out, got it,” Bokomon said brusquely. “Real talk; what’s the plan?”

“There _is_ no plan,” the blonde spelled out bluntly. “How you think there even _is_ one should tell me that you’re delusional, or an idiot. Both!”

“I’m just-” Bokomon stopped short to glower at the teen. “You know what? This is exactly the kind of whining I got sick of hearing from you brats the first time around. It wasn’t a blast sitting through back then, and it really doesn’t sound any better now. You’re, like, what, 17? I’m 42. You don’t get to tell me shit unless you’ve gone through the mother of all midlife crises like I have. Fuck you!”

They held each other’s gazes for an intense few seconds, and then broke into fits of laughter at the absurdity, wiping away the tears in their eyes.

“This,” Jaune snorted between chortles. “This can’t possibly work.”

“Yeah,” Bokomon fell on his back, the blonde following behind. They feasted on the stars, welcoming the small diversion, “could be worse.”

They exchanged small glances, before giving in to another round.

“I’m glad I got to see you again,” Jaune expressed after calming down.

“Likewise,” Bokomon returned.

“It was one hell of an adventure,” Jaune mused softly. “Too bad most of it sucked.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Bokomon refuted. “Do you miss them?”

“Not really.”

“Don’t lie.”

“They definitely don’t miss me much.”

“That’s because they don’t remember, like you didn’t.”

“If they did, they’ll probably want to kick my ass,” Jaune argued. “No. This isn’t going to work. I tried it, and I messed it up.”

“Yep, you kinda did,” Bokomon agreed, earning a look from the blonde. “But it wasn’t a total disaster. Think hard on it. What else do you remember?”

“That they all hated my guts in the end?”

“Try again,” Bokomon wagged a claw, his other arm on his stomach.

Jaune pressed both palms on his face, “This is bullshit.”

“Just try,” Bokomon insisted. “It’s not as bad…okay, it’s pretty bad, but not the ‘they’ll want to murder you’ kind of bad. Just-Just try, okay?”

Jaune took a deep, deep breath, the cold air aggravating his throat, but he went and did as told.

Of course it wasn’t _all_ bad, but the good went overshadowed by his mistakes. He struggled to be a leader, but it wasn’t as simple as ordering people around or being the strongest there was.

He and Cardin would wrestle to see who the top dog was, or spar in order to help grow in skill.

A leader would keep their team safe and well fed, a provider as much as a fighter.

Ren knew enough about cooking that he’d prepare meals worth to die for, and Nora shared what food she could. She didn’t have to, but empathetically knew what it was like to go hungry.

Morale was only as good as the leader standing as a beacon, their light in the dark.

Sun would make them laugh, especially when they were down, often at Cardin’s expense, but they each had a turn in falling prey to one of his trademark pranks.

But, mostly Cardin.

All of them had been better and unique in each their own way, filling gaps in their dynamic that he lacked. What use had he been to any of them?

Skimming, there were fragments that came to the fore.

Cardin…

“ _Tch, don’t get mushy. I only came back because I’m the_ one _difference that’ll make or break it for you losers. You’d be nothing without me. And…I can’t really go on my own. Common sense tells me it’s safer with numbers on your side. B-But, uh, once I hook up with some tougher guys, it’ll be adios for good. You hear me?_ ”

Nora…

“ _I’m sorry for yelling at you, and for running away. I just wanted so badly to go home. If you and everyone hadn’t found us, I…I would have lost Ren. You guys always do everything you can for me, and I’m…always a burden. Well…not anymore. I’m going to try. I may not be now, but…I’m going to try and_ get _stronger. Next time they show their ugly faces, I’ll-I’ll…I’ll break their legs!_ ”

Ren…

“ _Don’t give up, because I haven’t._ ”

Sun…

“ _We didn’t come this far for nothing. We can’t give up, Jaune. If we fall here, Remnant will be next. Nobody would stand a chance against him there. We_ can’t _let that happen. So, we doing this, or what? I’m ready when you are._ ”

**oOo**

“ ** _All of us, together._** ”

Jaune’s eyes opened, pushing to sit back upright.

“Well?” Bokomon asked, eyes still glued to the sky.

The blonde teen blinked to clear the creeping drowsiness, before looking down at the imp.

“Make a guy feel worse, why don’t ‘ya?”

Bokomon shrugged his shoulders, arms pillowing his head.

“You’re welcome.”


	7. Selfish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Copyright belongs to their respective owners.

Jaune stretched, the crisp morning air filling his lungs to release as a long yawn. The imp copied him, the two warming up with additional stretches to loosen the creaks of their muscles as the sun peeked over the horizon, greeting them in a cascade of velvet ribboning the sky.

“So, where do we start?” Bokomon prompted, doing a little jog after Jaune.

“First, we get some food,” the blonde went into fine detail. “Second, we leave with what supplies we can carry. Third, we kill anybody who so much as looks at us funny, ask around where Titamon’s place is; exactly in that order, go there, and murder his sorry ass in cold blood.”

The imp glanced at him flatly. “Uh, I was thinking less along the lines of psychopathy and stupidity, and more on how we can gather intelligence first. There’s bound to be outposts we can come across; preferably unmanned, with information, files, documents.

“You know, what relatively sane people normally pursue,” Bokomon finished.

“Come on,” Jaune puffed, glancing at the imp, “he can’t be that tough.”

“…Please tell me you’re not just meaning to die aimlessly,” Bokomon inflected in a deadpan tone, the two of them stopping to catch their breath.

“No, of course not,” Jaune crooned between palpitations. “I’m actually looking forward to a long and fulfilling life. Why do you ask?”

Bokomon sighed, facing the town to see Andromon approach. Behind him, a crowd of the surviving Guardromon and Hagurumon followed, accompanied by a handful of the same winged soldiers hovering overhead. Jaune stood affixed at the small crowd, an impromptu hand producing his D-Scanner to point at the pink furred mons.

_ Name: Piccolomon _

_ Type: Fairy _

_ Class: Ultimate _

_ Attribute: Vaccine, Data. _

_ Profile: This miraculous digimon is able to pop up in every place, time, and space, and although its body is small, it can seal the enemy's abilities and then pulverize them with powerful attacks. _

_ Special Moves: _

_ Bit Bomb _

_ Fairy Tale _

_ Pic Trick _

_ Transfer _

He snuck the device into a makeshift pocket in his pants, regarding the small caravan as it stopped five feet away from them. Andromon stepped forward, and without a word, presented what was dangling from his hand to the boy.

It was a burlap sack.

Yay, a matching set. All that was missing was the runway and his modelling career would be off like a rocket.

Schooling his thoughts, he took stock of the sack and its contents. Some bread, canteens of what he hoped was clean water, and breathing apparatuses.

There was also a roll of paper that he guessed was a map, not that he needed it with his digivice on-hand, but he supposed he could appreciate the thought. Andromon then handed him and Bokomkon cloaks to cover their heads with.

“You gonna be okay?”

Andromon nodded curtly. “I shall help in the recovery and rebuilding of my village.”

“Not just that.”

“It is…alright,” Andromon said stoically. “Those that have been lost will return, for this is their home. Primary Village has notified me of their recent crop, and will keep me updated.”

“Not all of them might.”

“That will be their choice,” Andromon accepted. “Far be it for me to impose.”

“You think Apollomon won’t pull the same crap all over again?” Jaune spied the units aloft the crowd, a few stealing glances.

“That, I cannot ascertain, although I and my fellows deliberated on the subject and have come to a decision,” Andromon turned his head to the ruins of their town. “We will not have an absolute denunciation of our stance on pacifism, nor will we attain an active stake in this war. In light of recent events, we cannot remain idle and rely on external intervention, in spite of Apollomon’s sponsorship. In time, we will fortify our defenses and prep the populace in reactive measures to the likes of Titamon.”

“…No turning back?” Jaune queried.

“It is unanimous,” Andromon confirmed. “As their chief, I conducted myself shamefully for the sake of my delusion in maintaining our survival. No more. We will fight for the protection of our home, of our people.  We fight, to live.”

A small grin flashed past Jaune’s lips, oddly satisfied with the answer, before a thought struck him. “Wait a minute, you’re the chief?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t think it important enough to tell me?”

“You did not ask.”

Jaune’s shoulders slacked. “I hate you so much right now.”

Andromon smiled, then glimpsed down at Bokomon.

“I’ll visit when I can,” the imp winked, pointing at the teen with his thumb. “Somebody’s gotta be there to wipe his butt.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Jaune grumbled, musing to make good on that joke.

An abrupt noise drew their attention, stemming from his right where a large armored truck was backing towards the town checkpoint, where teams of Piccolomon were standing by with a large bundle bound tightly with chains, the head of the digimon Jaune spotted the other day sticking out in unconsciousness. The truck was black in color, coupled to a sufficiently sized hexagonal trailer to fit their quarry.

Plastered on the side was an emblem of a golden lion’s head, its mane done in a stylized flame; Apollomon’s symbol.

Jaune reached for his D-Scanner.

_ Name: Fangmon _

_ Type: Demon Beast _

_ Class: Champion _

_ Attribute: Data _

_Profile: A digimon that lives deep in the heart of the forest, and preys upon those who lose their way._ _Once it sets its sights on a prey they will never escape, as it sometimes goes so far as to disguise itself as someone dear to them in order to get closer. It has a heretical existence among Dog and Wolf-species Digimon._

_ Special Moves: _

_ Blast Coffin _

_ Snipe Steal _

Jaune observed the beast being hauled into the trailer via a ramp, laid unto it by the joint effort of three Piccolomon lifting its bulk with ropes.

“Is it sedated?” Jaune inquired in mild curiosity. “Why hasn’t it devolved?”

“Attached to its neck is an inhibitor,” Andromon clarified. “They cannot run the risk of allowing it as a Gazimon to slip its bonds, therefore, the device saps it of strength and suppresses the body’s ability to evolve and devolve at will. It will remain in that state until secured within a proper detention facility.”

Jaune watched quietly as the truck left shortly, accompanied by a handful of Piccolomon serving as escort. “What are the chances they’ll get intercepted?”

“That, I am afraid, will be their problem,” Andromon remarked dismissively. “Where are you headed?”

“Wherever the wind wants,” Jaune answered. “It’s been so long since I’ve been here, or so I’ve heard, so a little catching up might be in order. Check the sights, and see if I run into any old faces,” and a clue to Neamon’s whereabouts.

Andromon held out his hand. “I do hope we will meet again after the war.”

“Sooner than you might think,” Jaune said, shaking it. “But, let it just be farewell for now. I don't care for goodbyes.”

“Likewise,” Andromon finished.

Packed and ready to depart, the duo set out into the desert. After approximately an hour, the Terminal of Flame didn't even register as a speck, truly on their own and trekking beneath the blistering sun that saw fit to mock them with its rays.

_ Two days later… _

“Are we there yet?” Bokomon wheezed through his breathing apparatus, vision swaying.

“Not yet, just a little more,” Jaune responded, brows creased and riddled with sweat as he focused on the coordinates laid out in his D-Scanner’s built-in GPS. “Take cover at the first sign of movement, and only come out when I tell you to. Got it?”

“Gotcha,” Bokomon acknowledged dizzily before toppling face first into the dirt, dropping the canteen and spilling some of their precious water to run along the dry soil.

With the imp on his back, Jaune trudged onward, enduring on the hope of raiding the base to restock. Whether there were guards or not would be meaningless in front of surveillance, bound to alert others before word reached Titamon, but that was neither here nor there, their food all but depleted to the last crumb.

He owed the aforementioned coordinates to Andromon, who produced them via a filched a communicator from one of the Gazimon, tracing the signal to a location due South that they trailed diligently, perseverance that was keenly rewarded by a distinct dot entering his sights.

“ _ Finally…! _ ”

Dipping behind a rock, Jaune laid Bokomon against it as he went to rummage through the sack. True to his expectations, there was a small telescope buried under their canteens; he counted one left, and brought the tool out to spy on the base. From their purview, he drank in the walled fortress like hovel that had to be about two stories high.

No visible guards were posted, and the tower was similarly bare. The outpost itself didn’t appear too secure, harboring wear on its foundation, with scraps of cloth billowing to the tune of the razor winds that helped them as camo. Bokomon gained his bearings shortly, taking a swig of what was left of his canteen. They shared knowing looks, with Jaune marching on ahead.

A few minutes of powering through the latest storm, Jaune was left to his thoughts.

“ _ Fuck my life. After finishing school, this is not at all how I imagined what I'd be doing in the middle of goddamn nowhere. I should have gone straight to a trade. I could have picked up traditional basket weaving, crafting, carpentry, but nooo.” _

Something occurred to him. “ _ Wonder if this is how trainees in the Academies get prepped for taking missions. _ ”

Dwelling on it meticulously, Jaune considered that it was unfair to compare his experiences with what the average Huntsman had to go through on a near day to day basis based on the stories his father would tell them, give or take an exaggeration or two.

Then again, did Nicholas Arc ever tell him of the time he fought with gods and monsters that literally tore a world at the seams? Hm, that must have been after the time he used a sleeping bag stuffed with his dirty laundry as bait to lure an Ursa.

No, they had to have higher standards than that. None of those ridiculous high school dramas that his sisters would make him sit through, cringing at nearly every cliché. You’d be lucky enough to graduate with your dignity intact, which the blonde reckoned was a genuine achievement on its own.

And here he was now, about to mount a one man assault on a military base. It all came full circle in the end. He adjusted his mask as he marched at a meager pace, simultaneously flaring his senses out and keeping tabs on his six. The storm was slowly dying down, contrasting to how suddenly it brewed, pausing when he caught sight of the gate, bent and deformed as it hung open.

He stretched a curious hand out for purchase, inspecting the damage to make sure - the base had been broken into. “ _ Or maybe they cleared out _ ,” and left the rest in shambles for the desert to claim. Just in case, he digivolved and shot a flare to signal Bokomon.

Soon, the duo made their way inside, the imp sticking close, scanning the yard animatedly in fear of an ambush. Agnimon was more composed, sure that had the building been occupied, the flare would have alerted on their presence.

The atmosphere felt ashen, the field and building lacking clear signs of a scuffle, although that could be attributed to the deluge of sand piling on evidence after what had to be few days at most. He peered through the particles that swept past for the door that stood unmolested, wide as it was thick. It irked him, sensing that something was amiss.

Bokomon was fidgeting with his cloak, a shiver creeping down his spine as they drew closer to the building that bore a large symbol of a horned skull streaked with red and green, Titamon’s symbol seething down at them with a fearsome glower. Agnimon sized the emblem with disinterest, largely unimpressed as he kept walking until they reached the alcove.

The door was made of metal. It wasn’t steel, but Chrome Digizoit, the ore that Titamon had the Guardromon mine. The wall, gate, and likely parts of the building were lined with the alloy, which meant that someone had to be strong enough to bend said gate out of shape. That same someone was still inside. How did he arrive to that conclusion? It could be because of the door slithering open, startling Bokomon to scurry behind the warrior.

Agnimon’s heart skipped in his chest, seized by a surge of killing intent, prompting him to grab the imp and retreat with a sharp leap, chased by a blast of energy that echoed with a roar.

His lips peeled, tossing the imp aside to evade the attack. He nailed the landing, taking a hard stance with his right side leading. The wind howled anew as a figure emerged from the shadows, a tail swishing sideways. It said nothing, but the warrior of flame felt it boring into him, beset with the same killing intent.

His left fist already reared, he released a blast of fire in retaliation, big enough that it consumed the alcove. He ducked a swipe that would have decapitated him, his reflexes only enough to evade the blade by a hair’s width as strands of his locks were scattered to the far ends by a passing gust. The assailant was fast despite its bulk, clipping the range in the blink of an eye as it dove in with a left hook. Agnimon swiveled to plant a kick below the belt, but was parried with an arched knee.

“ **_Fire Slide!_ ** ’

His foe hopped from the burning sweep of his leg that spun into another kick with the momentum, but was blocked by a swift shielding of its arms. Footing regained, it smoothly disjointed a punch to Agnimon’s mass, its own leg drawn forward. The blonde stumbled until a massive hand made a grab for his arm, sending him flying like a ragdoll.

He was then struck squarely in the stomach by the same attack earlier, elevating him past the building. Disoriented, he only had enough of a window to see a second flying his way. Bracing, he deftly maneuvered his arms so that they were sandwiched in front of him before briskly spreading them apart, dispersing the energy.

“ **_Salamander Kick!_ ** ”

A fierce growl rang through bared teeth, wasting no movement as he spun in the air to produce a flaming cocoon in the shape of a dragon. He sailed the blaze back down, extending his leg in a fiery bicycle kick that connected – against his adversary’s palm, which grabbed hold and swung him down.

Agnimon met the ground with the force of a hammer, again and again repeatedly until his perception started to wane. Flames bloomed from his body in a rage, focusing a stream at his foe when he crested, whose hold loosened for him to land with a thud.

He rolled to the right, pushing off in a flip to tack some distance between them and resumed an awkward stance, his armor mottled with the damage he had accumulated. The other only needed to slam its palms together to snuff out the wild flames licking at it. The figure inhaled and exhaled to steady its center, darting a glance in Agnimon’s direction.

They both stood apart in still silence, analyzing each other. The warrior of flame was obviously winded in comparison to the other, barring the blackened patches left by his fire. The wind once again howled as another storm brewed, reflecting the tension between the two.

Bokomon watched the fight from behind a stack of tires, claws digging into the burlap that he clutched onto in suspense, a peculiar glint in his expression lobbed at the newcomer.

“ _ No way… _ ”

Agnimon braced himself under the digimon's menacing eyes that kept drilling into him with an odd sliver of satisfaction. He understood the moment he recognized those very same eyes that scrutinized every iota of movement, every breath he took, every blow that failed to render a lasting impression.

The fight was done in an instant the next moment, cutting a wide gash into the storm that spanned nearly the whole base that it was a wonder that the building didn’t buckle, the force of their clashed fists destroying a large chunk of the wall and knocking down the guard tower.

Jaune, not Agnimon, lay crumpled on the dusty ground eagle spread, utterly drained, right hand numb and possibly broken. Dazed and gasping through his mask, a shadow loomed over him.

“You look like hell,” said the taller mon, who was leaning on one knee with an arm slung above the other, cutting quite the well-muscled physique, full mane, and powerfully thick arms and legs that could encompass an average woman’s waist.

A scar lined down the left eye, with a few on both biceps and one on its left foot. A pair of black pants tethered with belts and stitching was the only article of clothing to speak of, with a multitude of belts entangling his left arm.

A gold earring drooped by its left ear, alongside a tribal necklace with a blue gem studded in the middle decorating the neck. Resting behind its waist horizontally was a sword, sheathed upon swiftly granting Agnimon the closest haircut of his life. The face was that of a lion, but anthropomorphic enough that Jaune almost mistook for a faunus.

“Not a lot of thanks to you,” Jaune grumbled. “Master…Leomon.”

Leomon huffed, flicking his fingers in a gesture, before unceremoniously hoisting the blonde on his shoulder, and breaking the monotony with small talk. “Word on the street is you killed Orgemon.”

Jaune blinked. “Yeah. So?”

“He and I had a score to settle,” Leomon explained as he strolled back to the base. “Being a former pupil of mine doesn’t mean you can just meddle in my affairs.”

“I’m honestly not sorry, but he would have gutted me a new orifice if I didn’t,” Jaune argued, taking the chiding coolly. “That, and-”

“Yeah, I heard,” Leomon interrupted, ceding. “I didn’t want to believe it, not until I saw you with my own eyes. I got called in as a favor and thought this place needed some sprucing up before you arrived, and wouldn’t you know it, here you are, wet behind the ears as always. The things I do for you kids.”

“You the only one here?” Jaune asked, letting the snide jabs slide.

“I was,” Leomon said not-so ambiguously, cupping his mouth with a free hand to call on the imp. “Bokomon, let’s get inside. We’re going to need this shelter for the storms in the coming hours.”

“Got it,” Bokomon deferred shakily, buried under the pile of tires, “great to see you again, by the way.”

Once the three were settled, Bokomon swooned in relief that the interior was better than the outside, reveling in the air conditioned office they chose to huddle in for the night. The halls and corridors were less hygienic, strewn with garbage, papers and a potpourri of junk that it was generous to even call it a military base.

At first, Jaune presumed that whoever left must have been in quite the hurry to leave such disarray, then they milled through the mess hall, facilities and medical bay.

Merciful mother of Yggdrasil, never in Jaune’s young life did he ever wish that he was back in his room. At least there, he still had breathable air that wasn’t going to collapse his lungs. He genuinely wondered to himself how the Gazimon thrived in such conditions.

“They live no differently to dogs,” Leomon provided for his benefit. “Orgemon’s office is the only place that’s spotless. He at least had standards, and the perks of being one of Titamon’s generals.”

“You sure it’s safe here?” Jaune prodded as he warily eyed the camera on the ceiling near the door. He was reclining on a leather sofa, nursing his arm that had been bandaged and cast in a sling, while Leomon took the couch beside it. Bokomon was taking it easy on the chair behind the desk, arms pillowing his head and feeling like a big shot for once.

“They hauled ass days ago after news of what went down at the Terminal spread,” Leomon added. “The base was no longer viable to keep with Apollomon establishing a foothold in this part of the desert. I got here yesterday and had this place running again after I disabled the surveillance. Even if they did see me, they’ll assume that I was here for Orgemon.”

“Who told you that we were coming?”

“Like I said, I was called in as a favor.”

“Of course,” Jaune sighed noncommittally.

“I don’t think I need to dive into the lurid details.”

“And I don’t think I need to go into how much I was done with this shit ages ago.”

“Ages ago,” Leomon brooded, “the newly reformatted Digital World was simpler, the populace young and slowly rebuilding what had been lost. I and many who retained memories of the old world went about to relive our lives. It wasn't all sunshine, but it was stable.”

“But this war,” the lion man paused, “has taken its toll, Jaune. Truth be told, there are days that I want to finally hang my sword for a long deserved vacation.”

“Haven’t you?” Jaune poked.

Leomon shook his head. “Why not?”

“Pride, honor, and a slew of enemies that I’ve made over the years wanting my head on a platter, or my code,” the lion man clasped his fingers together. “All the same, I cannot stand aside while there is ever injustice afoot, but I also refuse to have anything to do with the warring factions.”

“Not your style?” Jaune commented.

“Who is or isn’t an enemy can change, allies notwithstanding. It’s all a matter of convenience in the end,” Leomon grunted. “I tend to steer from such underhandedness, although for the record, I don’t necessarily oppose it as a necessity. That’s nature at work, survival of the fittest in both mind and body, like I taught you.”

“And nothing is as natural as being a bastard, right?” Jaune remarked.

“I’ve made it this far, haven’t I?” Leomon said in defense. “Let’s just say that little number we did was a prelude, and leave it at that. Speaking of which, a little retraining would do you some good, how about it?”

Dread glazed Jaune’s face. “How long?”

Leomon stared at him. “Six months.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Jaune proclaimed, perching his head atop the backrest, “after graduating, why not? I’m positively enraptured by the chance to be your personal punching bag for the next six months. It’s not like I have a home to go back to anymore. Hooray…”

“Noted,” Leomon coughed.  “If it helps, the discrepancies of time between our respective worlds benefit us on that aspect,” he carried on, ignoring the air of incensement that the blonde was projecting. “It’ll be like you never left.”

“That’s still a thing?”

“It fluctuates,” Leomon did a vague twirl of his hand. “I admit, it can be hard to keep track, but overall, however long you stay here, it’ll always be close to a few seconds to minutes in your world. Give or take.”

“Whatever,” Jaune scoffed. “Anyway, are we gonna get a move on tomorrow? This base may be abandoned, but it’s a shit hole. We can't possibly stay, unless you happen to have a truckload of cleanser and some hazmat suits on you.”

“I have a villa just north from here, but it’ll take us a week on foot,” Jaune and Bokomon gaped at him with round eyes, “and that’s without stopping to eat or sleep. Or bathroom breaks.”

“Okay…cool,” Jaune smiled crookedly, trying and failing to seem like he wasn’t contemplating suicide, if the desert wasn’t going to do a better job of it than him.

“Or, for all our sakes, we can take the train,” Leomon shrugged, imagining the ensuing trip to chiefly consist of the blonde being a little bitch. “Above all, we need to leave at our discretion.”

“Don't tell me, there’s gonna be a digimon dropping in to try and wreck our shit, won't there.”

Leomon oscillated his head. “Most likely.”

“And, that’s normal?” Jaune ventured.

“Yes.”

“Beautiful,” the lad exclaimed gratefully, “something to vent all of my pent up frustrations on before mercilessly scanning their code, like the good old days.”

“Just so you know, I’m currently doing my utmost to not axe what’s plainly in front of me to be a budding psychopath, if not one already.”

“And you’re hesitating, because…?”

“Because I know you’re just under a lot of stress, or that’s what I’m telling myself to maintain what amount of faith I have in life,” Leomon shifted in his seat. “In all seriousness, Jaune, I’m happy to see you again, and, for what it's worth, proud of the man you’ve grown into. How are the others doing?”

Jaune sobered. “Haven’t seen or heard from them, and if I did at some point, it’d have meant nothing.”

“Because of the memory wipe,” Leomon nodded, ensnaring the boy’s gaze from the corner of his eye. “I know about it, or knew. The workings of the D-Scanner are not esoteric to me for I was one of the original designers,” the jaws of the other two fell to the floor at that bit of revelation, “and the improvements have merely expanded on its capabilities. More doors will be opened in time, but they shall only be unlocked with the proper training and understanding of your abilities, and delving into the true secrets of digimon evolution.”

“This…this is really happening, isn’t it?” Jaune asked, more to quell his lingering doubts, his body weighed with lead.

Leomon and Bokomon watched as the lad grew quiet, fumbling with the bandages on his hand, fingers drumming along the fabric, his expression deathly blank, mouth drier than the very desert they had traveled.

A tremor gripped Jaune’s frame, the beginnings of a quake snapping him out of his slump. He scrolled between the others, confused at how they weren’t reacting as their gazes were fixed on him, glued to their seats, until he peered below at his hand – shivering – trembling, lurching.

The room was teetering.

His head had fallen on the armrest without him realizing, his senses fogging. He was tired.

“So tired,” he breathed, closing his sunken eyes. “How did it come to this?”

“Philosophically, shit happens,” Leomon folded his arms, sinking into the couch. “That’s life.”

“Then, why bother?”

“Why, indeed,” Leomon reflected, his own eyelids sinking.

“Because it’s right?”

“Right and wrong are perspectives. What is right to you might be wrong to me, one cannot easily tell the difference, and hence, why I’m cautious to not justify my actions as absolutes of either.”

“Was it wrong of me to help Andromon?” Jaune asked, catching a glimpse of Bokomon yawning.

“Was it wrong of you and your friends to save this world?”

“Did we save it?”

“I’m asking you,” Leomon’s voice echoed in the ether of his mind.

“Fuck, this is complicated.”

A snort tugged at the corner of Leomon’s lips.

“I don’t feel like I did anything right. I don’t feel satisfied, elated or happy. I don’t feel like I needed to do all of those things to be proud of myself, but I thought I did.”

He curled into himself, the aching in his arm intangible. “I’m…selfish, like everybody else.”

Leomon chuckled loudly, stalling Jaune’s descent into sleep.

“I remember...”

Jaune perked up.

“I was fresh off a battle with one of Cherubimon’s underlings, entering the nearest town to take five when I had the luck of spotting two human children making rounds pilfering the stalls.”

He and Sun, who resolved on that day to teach him the ways of a thief to fill their group’s empty stomachs, and an extra hand to help carry the loot. Yes, he remembered as well.

“You thought I’d turn you two in to the locals, so you ran. Remember what happened next?”

Jaune chewed on the memory. “You caught Sun after he made himself the decoy for me to get away.”

“Did you?”

Jaune bit into his lip.

“Starving, you barely had the energy to digivolve, none of you did. But, you didn't budge and forced yourself to in order to save him. ‘Course, you still went down like a brick when I gave you a measly little slap, but you tried. Instead of fleeing, you stayed and fought for the sake of your friend.”

The blonde struggled against the lump in his throat.

“It was also the stupidest thing you could have done had it not been me, and I made extra sure to make you count your good fortune for it.”

“If I had left him...”

“You’d have regretted it?”

“Yeah…”

“Why?”

“Because he wouldn’t have forgiven me, none of them would have.”

“And you would have been alone?”

Jaune's chest tightened, “I couldn’t…stand the thought of them hating me.”

“People are naturally selfish,” Leomon shrugged. “It comes with the territory of free will, and you were just a kid, learning as you grew.”

“I haven’t learned,” Jaune mumbled. “I haven’t changed.”

“I beg to differ. You were the most eager when I took you all in to be my students,” Leomon cut in to add. “When the smoke cleared you jumped right into the training like a fish to water.”

Jaune shifted on his back. “When I came here, it's not like I didn't think that it wasn’t going to be easy, but this world did its thing showing me just  _ how _ . Yes, we saved it, but at a price.”

“And for that, countless were grateful,” Leomon conciliated, “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You’re not as bad as you think, I’ve seen worse; much worse. Titamon isn't the first warlord to try their hand in conquering this world, and he certainly won’t be the last.”

“Then, why bother going forward?”

“Would you rather do nothing?”

Jaune worked it over, sighing as he gently pounded the back of his hand against his forehead.

“How do you do it?”

Leomon shrugged, “I’m used to it.”

“Yeah? Well, when do I get there?”

Leomon’s head sunk into his shoulders. “I pray that you don't.”

_ Elsewhere… _

The Gazimon awoke to an unfamiliar ceiling, his reaction instantaneous as he launched out of the cot and landed on solid linoleum. The room he was in was dimly lit by a lamp, but his night vision allowed him to clearly discern a closet, a small desk, and a large trunk leaning against the wall across.

He worked his nose and found trace scents of food wafting in the air, intermingling with the hamper full of used aprons, and while it caused his stomach to rumble, he knew when not to be governed by such urges, bracing for a presence nearing. Strangely, he did not move an inch from his spot, taking a pose of supplication with his arm over a knee while leaning on the other.

As soon as the door opened did he bow his head in respect, not daring to make eye contact. He did not speak, drowning in the ominous silence that flooded the domicile.

The patter of each footstep that geared closer was like a death toll, heralding the Dark Area ready to swallow him whole, a void from which the shapeless denizens swarmed about, excited;  _ joyful _ , to drag him into their paradise as a new addition.

His eyes were closed, and was thrown for a loop when his nose began to twitch, cracking one open to peek down at a fresh plate of food slid in front of him.

Fried rice with shrimp, scallops, squid, chives, sea salt, carrots, peas, and eggs. He fought back gulping on reflex, but was calmed that he wasn't to be punished, the serving of food a sign for leniency.

In exchange for his loose tongue.

He lowered into a full kowtow.

“Howdy, strangeroo!  Glad you're awake. I hope you're feeling betteroo after a dandy noodly-night's riddly-rest. Have yourself some breakfast so we can sit diddily ding dong down for some chitchat. You look like you've got one hel-diddly-ell of a tale to tel-diddly-ell!.”

The Gazimon failed to suppress a wince. God, they hated it when he talked like that.

_ Back to the middle of goddamn nowhere… _

Leomon, Jaune and Bokomon were waiting idly in front of a train track, having left the base after finding nothing of value, wasting an hour of searching the office since waking up, raking through the room with a fine toothed comb. The computer was of no use, its CPU missing a hard drive, the drawers and cabinets stripped bare - with not even a coffee stain for their trouble. They didn't dare restock, unless they wanted to suffer a slow and painful death from tainted food and water.

Jaune and Bokomon weren't completely disappointed, the trek bearing fruit with Leomon, who promised to bring them to his villa to properly freshen up and recuperate. The blonde took a moment to examine the familiar stretch of track, the kind that he and the others used to follow to help guide their way around these lands.

After waiting for an hour, and with ten minutes to spare, the chugging of a Trailmon rattled in the distance. Anticipation, followed by relief, the living vehicle eased to a stop next to the trio.

“Where you folks headed?” the Trailmon asked with a gravelly voice. It was an Angler model, the paint green with dashes of orange, and an antenna on the front that had a bulb at the end. A single car was coupled to it, its one eye drilling holes into each of them in scrutiny.

“North,” Leomon answered curtly, his arms folded.

“Hop aboard.”

Jaune exhaled from his nostrils, adjusting the sack full of their empty canteens and other belongings slung over his shoulder as he clambered inside with the others, which he found was empty, indicating that they were the first passengers this early in the morn.

Sandwiched between his two companions, he stole a glance from the barren desert, and the lonely dot of the outpost they had vacated. None of them spoke a word, letting the vibrations of the Trailmon moving wash over them. Bokomon swung his feet to and fro, glued to his book to do a little review of the changes after their memories were reawakened.

He leafed through the passages starting from Agnimon and found them to still be blank, making him fumble his chin in curiosity.

“Are you…gonna find them?”

**Author's Note:**

> I do not claim ownership to any images that might get used in this story. In terms of fanart, only if the artist grants me their permission will I do so.


End file.
